


Little Demon

by Mooyork



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2019-06-14 10:21:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 49
Words: 157,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15386673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mooyork/pseuds/Mooyork
Summary: (I'm very bad at summaries)Essentially what would happen if there was a fourth Archeron sister who didn't feel like sitting on her hands and making Feyre do everything.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first try at writing something, so please, any constructive criticism and feedback are welcome.  
> Disclaimer: All credit goes to Sarah J. Maas, I own nothing but Zoya and my other OCs.

The servants called her “little demon,” because she was the smallest of the siblings. She haunted the house, giggling as she darted in and out of different rooms and hiding in cupboards to eavesdrop on the adults' conversations. At the turn of the seasons from Summer to Fall, she would use the servants’ passages to sneak into the kitchen and steal the last of the summer fruit. 

The girl was the opposite of her twin sister, Elain. The little hellion was predisposed to trouble. Where Elain would sit through her lessons attentively, Zoya was prone to escaping to the yard or garden to scale a tree or hide with a book. 

Huddled in a kitchen cupboard, listening to the servants’ gossip, she heard the gardener, Botkin, say, “She’s an irritating little thing. No regard for her classes and she drags mud all over the floor. She can never sit still.” 

“She’s an ugly little thing too,” the cook, Bates, replied. “Pale and sour, like a glass of milk that’s turned. She never finishes her supper. She flings half of it at Nesta.” 

It was true. Zoya knew it. Where her twin Elain was blessed with a fair face, rich brown eyes, and golden-brown hair, all combining to make a lovely girl, Zoya was stretched thin. Her bones jutted out and her skin was too pale. Her hair was a flat brown and her eyes were such a light brown they looked almost colorless. Her hands or legs were constantly in motion. As for throwing her food at Nesta, that was true too, but Nesta deserved it for her nasty comments. 

Once the conversation had turned away from her and the servants filed out of the kitchen to clean the house Zoya slipped out of the cupboard. She kept close to the kitchen wall as she snuck out of the kitchen, easily avoiding the cook and his two minions. 

“Why did they call you ugly?” A voice prompted. Zoya jumped and stared at her younger sister, Feyre, who’d evidently been eavesdropping as well. Zoya was somewhat quiet, but Feyre had cat-soft feet and seemed to make no noise when she moved.  
“Because I’m skinny, and I look like turned milk apparently.”  
“Why don’t you eat?”  
“Because everything they make tastes like mud.”  
Feyre scowled, her brow wrinkling sweetly, “The food tastes good to me.”  
“You’ll eat anything. I’m picky.” Zoya continued past Feyre and started headed towards the garden in search of her twin. 

“I don’t think you’re ugly,” Feyre whispered as she watched her sister stride away. Zoya gave no indication that she heard, but a small smile flitted across her face. It was nice to hear a different critique every now and then. Feyre was sweet but she was still young, only five years old to Zoya’s eight, and she hadn’t really developed common sense yet.  
Waiting for Zoya in the garden was Elain, who was all dressed up in a simple pink frock and a frown. Zoya stifled a groan when she saw Nesta standing beside Elain, her typical disdainful look etched on her face. 

“Sticks,” called out Nesta by way of greeting. An inventive nickname since Nesta claimed that her arms looked like sticks. She wasn’t wrong, just rude. Zoya hated the nickname. Elain always seemed torn at the use of the name. Elain was closer to Nesta than she was with her twin, so while she didn’t approve of the name, she never truly protested. 

Like all her problems, Zoya decided that she didn’t want to deal with Nesta and simply turned around and headed towards the small grove of trees where she often hid from the governess. In the summers of previous years, Zoya and Elain would endure long music and reading lessons in the stifling study room. When the heat became unbearable they escaped to these trees for the shade. They’d hunted for bird nests and watched the sun pass overhead or compete to see who could find the most interesting flower. Zoya had only won once with a strange little blue flower. 

Last summer Elain had stopped coming with her after their mother had given them a lecture on the necessity of lessons and how they needed to grow up into proper young ladies. 

Feyre had come to the grove a few times and they’d hunted in the creek for tadpoles and they’d fashioned slingshots to see who had a better aim. Feyre won every round, she had better attention to detail and understanding of three-dimensional space than Zoya. Artist’s eyes, Zoya had argued. 

Zoya scaled an old maple tree and settled into one of its bows. Small and skinny as she was it was easy for Zoya to fit herself in the tree. There was no real concern about a branch snapping out from underneath her. She’d wasted summer and spring days here for years, ignoring her family and staff’s efforts to find her and drag her back to her lessons. It wasn’t that Zoya didn’t want to learn, it was that she was uninterested in what they taught her. 

Music and literature were supposed to be her topics of study as the daughter of the prince of merchants. She’d be married off to a suitably rich man as a breeding mare when she was old enough, while Nesta would inherit most of the fortune. Zoya had no interest in being mounted and displayed like a prize mare, and so she’d stolen books on math and money from her father’s study. 

The numbers were easy for her. Reading had been difficult for her to learn, the letters seemed to dance off the pages and her tutors were convinced that she was mentally slow. But they had never seen her work numbers. It came as easily as breathing. She’d saved money for years. While Nesta, Elain, and Feyre often spent their pocket money on sweets or ribbons she’d squirreled hers away in a small tin under her bed. Given her family’s wealth, her pocket money had built up to a sizeable amount. An amount which would go towards transportation to Amre, a haven for merchants on the rise, and where she would make her fortune. She’d have to start out clerking for a merchant, but she could work her way up the food chain. If her father was the prince of merchants she would become the queen.


	2. Chapter 2

Strolling down the crowded road, I went down into the red-light district of Amre. The place was suffocating. Amre was a massive, sprawling city, too big, actually. One day was not long enough to walk its length. Not even if you somehow managed to avoid getting lost in the twisted web of dead ends and alleys. The roads that were wide as rivers stunk of sweat and coal and urine. The buildings leaned on each other as they strained against the near constant rain and snow. 

The winter solstice was fast-approaching along with Feyre’s birthday. In celebration, the heavens had opened and made everyone’s lives harder with a good foot of snow and ice. T’was the season to freeze one’s ass off. 

Half of the city was nice and beautiful, with polished streets and ladies who dressed in their finery for no occasion at all. It was where I’d meant to live when I first arrived, to find a merchant there who would allow me to clerk for them. I’d eventually met a man who worked with fabrics, Kennedy Vantz, who’d insisted on being called Kenny. He’d been nice enough, but his profit margins were less than impressive. 

But all my good intentions of helping his business and learning the trade flew out the window when I went out drinking with a few other clerks. The night had started respectably enough but it deteriorated until we found ourselves in the beating heart of the red-light district, The Pits. An unattractive name for a disgusting place. It perpetually stunk of urine, sweat, and blood from the fighters. I’d jokingly entered the sand area for a beginner fight and found myself against a lean girl with fire-bright hair. I’d ended the night with a small sack of winnings, a few bruises, and a brand-new addiction. 

If I was good at numbers, I was extraordinary with my fists. One of the more seasoned fighters, a man with one eye and skin as dark as coal once scolded me for my fighting. “You have no technique!” I’d burst out laughing at him. A lack of technique hadn’t stopped me so far. 

“I do!” I’d insisted, still red in the face from laughing. “Pull their shirts over their heads and punch until you see blood!” The fighter hadn’t been wrong, once I was in a ring I became downright feral. “Technique” wasn’t something I’d ever use if I could skate by on pure madness. 

I eventually quit my job as a clerk after I stopped being able to stay awake during the day. Long nights in a ring having the living shit pummeled out of me often took their toll. I was a running joke for a long time as an amateur fighter. I was too small. Too skinny. Too weak. 

Those rumors stopped spreading after I’d managed shatter a fighter’s leg. It had been an accident, we fell awkwardly, and I applied too much pressure. She’d gone down screaming in pain, her leg saggy and misshapen. I never found out what happened to her. I don’t want to. But that fight had made me. I gained a reputation of being downright feral and brutal, and that earned me a job.

Swarms of tourists, clutching at their purses for fear of pickpockets, surrounded me as I strolled down the street that was rapidly becoming narrower and more twisted. Deeper and deeper into the district. The girls lining the streets in their low-cut gowns were charging less and less the farther I got. The men began to look meaner and meaner. The bouncers outside of establishments became stronger. 

A hard shoulder slammed into me from behind. I stumbled and nearly pitched into a puddle which could have been any number of bodily fluids combined. “Watch yourself!” grunted the heavyset man who’d slammed into me. 

“Watch your fucking feet,” I snarled, lips curling back into a sneer at him. Never mind that I had to crane my neck to meet his beady little eyes, as he was around seven feet tall. It was Arman. A man as stupid as he was tall and a bouncer at a run-down gambling hall across the street. He was a classic rat from this side of town: all flashy colors and bright animal prints, with stones too big and bright to be real lining his fingers. 

His jaw went slack at the sight of me and he quickly turned away to mind his own business. He’d started fighting in The Pits last night, and it didn’t bode well for his chances there to have a senior fighter in a foul mood with him. A small smirk worked its way onto my face. 

Big strong men with fragile egos, carrying knives don’t expect scrawny little girls on the street to be their superiors. They always look a bit dumbfounded when it's me they’ve tried to bully. 

A rounded a sharp turn in the street and found myself face-to-face with a large brick building, which sported flashy colors and music blasting out through the doors. The Palace. A first-rate gambling hall. The prostitutes lined up around the corner to be allowed to work the floor here. They were all beautiful girls, the best of what local pleasure houses had to offer. 

It was fun to stroll past them and their perfection and into the hall. They always looked a bit furious that an ugly girl like me could get in while they were out on the street waiting for a chance. Some of the older girls didn’t care though, they knew who I was and that if push came to shove I’d be the thing between them and a violent customer. I got bonuses from the pleasure houses to make sure their girls were treated well. 

Being a bouncer this deep into the crime-ridden district paid well, but the bonuses were sorely needed. Most money went home to my family. I’d left home a year after my father’s knee was shattered and I’d been sending money ever since. Feyre had stepped up in the face of our sisters’ uselessness and started hunting. Her help was a weight off my shoulders, and my money was a weight off hers. We worked as hard as possible to support our lazy and objectively useless sisters. I might be a little bitter. 

As I entered through the double doors I passed Darius and Rotty, a few of my fellow bouncers. They both nodded me in and Rotty’s eyes followed me as I went inside. The air inside was warm, thanks to a large, roaring fireplace. The flames leaped three feet into the air, burning bright in shades of orange and yellow. Two months ago, the bar had been moved from its original place by the far wall to a comfortable distance from the fire. Its dark hardwood surface gleamed brilliantly in the fire’s light. 

Despite the time of year, the bar and gambling tables were full to bursting with patrons. The girls that had been fortunate enough to get in flirted and displayed themselves in their finery. The patrons, mostly men, were spending money fast on their own personal thrills. 

I strolled up to the beautiful bar, the barman grinned up at me and thrust his chin out towards the man I was after. Adrassy looked the same way he always did: everything was in its correct place with a well-tailored suit and groomed hair. His trademark emerald rings glinted in the firelight as he made exaggerated gestures. There was a beautiful young man with flaxen hair and brilliant blue eyes sitting on Adrassy’s knee. Flavor of the week. 

He turned to face me, black eyes brimming with laughter. “Zoya! Just the girl we were all talking about!” He opened an arm to me and I obligingly went to his side, letting him loop his arm around me. He turned back to the two businessmen he was talking to, “This is the lovely lady that guards your girls.” The two men let out soft ahhs, one even went so far as to raise his glass in salute. 

“Well thank you, dear,” the one who raised his glass smiled at me. His voice was nasally, and his leopard-print smoking jacket was tight around his large gut. “My girl Nina, lovely little redhead, do you know her?” He paused, looking down his hook nose at me and I nodded. “Well,” he continued, “she’s in one piece thanks to you. No bruises on her face so she can keep working,” he said with a hearty belly laugh. 

The other man grinned, his teeth were yellowed and crooked. “Very good,” he praised, “As long as the girls can keep spreading their legs we are indebted to you.” Something about his gaze made me realize he was sizing me up to figure out how well I would sell in one of his beds. The men laughed, Adrassy the loudest of all. Pigs. I gave an appeasing smile. 

The blonde boy on Adrassy’s knee looked distinctly uncomfortable. Probably wondering if this was how his pimp talked about him when he wasn’t around. “Excuse me,” said Adrassy, giving the men a greasy smile and the boy a pat on the thigh, “I need a moment of time with Zoya here.” 

The men roared even louder, “Take your time,” the one with bed teeth urged, waggling his eyebrows lewdly.

I gritted my teeth and forced out a false giggle. I slipped away leading Adrassy by the hand to a back room while we were serenaded by the men’s encouraging whoops. The blonde boy looked distinctly crestfallen. No doubt he thought Adrassy would no longer spend a small fortune on his services. 

Once the door was closed behind us Adrassy gave me an apologetic smile. “Sorry about them.”

“Why are men such pigs?” I muttered as I browsed through the rows of hangers. Most employees wore an emerald uniform, to match Adrassy’s rings. I was a bouncer though, meaning I got all dressed up in whatever I showed up to work in and a pair of fingerless leather gloves, gifted to me by Adrassy, meaning that they were green. 

“What do you need?” He asked, following me along the racks and tsking at some of the dusty uniforms. I stopped at an emerald jacket and fingered the lapels, admiring its fine make. “I just needed to remind you that I’m heading home tomorrow for two weeks.” 

“Are you?”

“Yes, I am. It’s been written on your calendar for two weeks.” Adrassy shrugged, if he didn’t have to remember something, he wouldn’t. Carson, the secretary, was his brain most days. 

“If you say so.” He said, completely uncaringly. “Who’s your replacement going to be?” There were the conditions. Adrassy could attach strings to anything to make it easier for him and harder for others. If I wanted a vacation I had to submit paperwork to Carson, and then find someone to cover my shifts for the time I was away. Never mind that Adrassy probably knew half a dozen unemployed bouncers who would jump to work here, even for two weeks only. As long as Adrassy could drink and charm people into giving him money he didn’t care who kept his business running. 

“A guy with one eye and coal-colored skin is going to fill my shifts. I’ve known him for years, he’s reliable.” 

Adrassy seemed to consider it. “Is he a fighter?” His worth of a bouncer seemed to hinge on whether or not they were able to hold their own at The Pits. 

“Yes, he’s more senior than I am.” Adrassy gave an easy nod, seemingly appeased. 

“Alright then,” he said, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Are you going to The Pits tonight?”  
I glanced at him sideways as I pulled the green jacket off the hangar. “Why the interest?”  
“Can’t I just care about what one of my best employees is doing?” Adrassy said, flashing me that greasy smile that he used to charm money out of people’s pockets. I gave him a flat look as I tested the fit of the jacket. “The two men out there, pigs I believe you called them, want to see you perform.” 

I raised an eyebrow at him. “Those two men and I have different definitions of ‘perform.’” 

“Probably,” he agreed, looking completely unconcerned. “I’ll let them know that you’re off visiting a secret sweetheart and that if they want to see a fight they best keep coming back here or visiting The Pits.” Either way he’d make money, having recently become a shareholder of The Pits. “Both of your versions of performing involve removing clothes though,” Adrassy added, with a small smile. 

“Pervert,” I hissed at him. It had no effect whatsoever. Adrassy simply laughed and straightened his suit before heading towards the door where he paused. “Once more thing, do you know the weapons shop near the artist’s district?”

“Yes…” I said, wondering where the conversation was going.  
“The man hasn’t been making his rent payments.” I nodded, comprehension dawning.  
“I’ll remind him.”  
“Thank you,” said Adrassy as he stepped through the door.  
“Are you sure you want to leave this early?” I called out after him while checking my plain brass pocket watch, “You won’t have lasted very long! You might lose bragging rights.”

Adrassy barked a laugh and threw a single-fingered salute over his shoulder at me. Leaving me to roll up the green jacket’s too-long sleeves so that they fit me. Any extra layers in the bitter cold outside would do me good. Adrassy was right about the stripping-down part of my performance though. 

I usually went into the rings in pants and a minimal binder for my chest. It was all to show off the brilliant tattoo on my back. It took hours of work and weeks to finish completely. The tattoo artist who’d done it for me, Eric, was tattooed from his eyes to his toes. Everything in between had been done. Everything. 

The tattoo had earned me my nickname at The Pits, “Demon,” a play on what the servants called me when we had them. It was a terrifying piece of work, and I loved it. I’d spent good money on it too, so I showed it off in the one place where it was socially acceptable to do so. 

I made a few last-minute adjustments to the jackets and strode out back to the doors and into the cold. I nodded at Rotty, who was shivering violently, prompting him to run back inside. He’d get a pint at the bar and drink it while he warmed up before going home. He’d followed that routine for years. 

The man was built like a brick shit house. His arms were as thick as bull necks and he towered over almost everyone. Adrassy had nearly hired him on the spot during an impromptu visit to The Pits where Rotty had his first fight. It didn’t matter that he’d nearly lost according to Adrassy because, “Even his muscles have muscles, one look at him and no one will disturb the peace.” Rotty was still a junior fighter, meaning that he had to fight against and beat a senior fighter in order to break into our ranks. It wouldn’t happen anytime soon. Darius had wiped the floor with him last week as a warm-up while halfway to blackout drunk. 

I glanced over to where Darius was standing. He was busy glaring at a curvy girl who was trying to sweet talk him into letting her into work the floor. I caught his eye and he sent me a look that said very clearly: Can you believe this girl? 

Where Rotty was physically imposing, Darius just looked terrifying. His head was shaved bald and his hard-grey eyes could kill. Where Rotty was roughly the size and weight of a bear, Darius was lean and deceptively strong, but more than anything else he was a hard bastard. I’d once seen him crush someone’s skull into a bloody mess with his bare hands and go right on drinking. The girl had a weighty set of balls if she wasn’t withering under his glare. I would be. Or maybe she was just stupid. 

I watched as Darius finally lost his temper with her and simply snarled at her, making her scamper off immediately. She somehow still managed to look pretty, holding her dress up daintily so it didn’t get dirty. Even my sisters, who had taken etiquette lessons and learned to walk with books on their heads would be hard-pressed to match the working girl’s grace. 

“Well, that was one way of doing it.”  
“One way of doing what?” He hissed, still pissed off at the girl’s persistence.  
“Getting someone to leave you alone. I confess I’ve never thought of making barnyard animal noises at someone before. Let me guess…cow.”  
“Goat,” Darius deadpanned, completely unamused. “What would you have done?”  
“I don’t know,” I admitted slowly. “Kick them?”  
“Kick them?” He said slowly like he was trying to figure out if I’d finally lost it.  
“Yes,” I said, sounding slightly more confident. “Kick them politely.” Darius snorted, somewhat dragged out of his black mood. “Good way to drive off business.” 

“Making goat noises at people is a good way to drive of business,” I countered, smiling slightly at the brief upturn of Darius’s lips. He was still glaring at anyone who walked through the door though, most of them old businessmen who seemed unsettled at being faced with a shark’s glare. If Darius had the ability to, he’d probably eat people as a display of dominance. He’d once eaten an omelet on his balcony to show the birds that were crapping there what he was capable of. 

“I think you think you’re charming when in reality, you’re just absolutely mental,” mused Darius, peering suspiciously at two young men entering The Palace. As unreliable as law enforcement was, it was always possible that they’d decide to make an unannounced visit. In which case the working girls were suddenly daughters and girlfriends and anyone who looked too young in the hall could get us in trouble. 

“Pfft, bullshit,” I muttered. Darius gave me a pointed look. 

“After we ended up in jail for putting a large phallic-shaped hat on the statue of the Queen—”  
“Long may she reign with the dick hat we stuck to her head,” I interrupted. "Also don't use words like 'phallic' it makes it sound so much worse than it is."  
“—you called the jail cell a ‘nice change of scenery,’” finished Darius, looking exasperated at the mere memory of our alcohol-induced antics. It had been a great night. Unfortunately, I didn’t remember too much of it. I did remember us dressing up an unconscious Rotty in a dress. His little sister helped. 

There were a few moments of silence while Darius glared at me and I tried to stifle my laugh. The Queen’s statue had looked magnificent. Besides, we hadn’t spent very long in the cell, I used a hairpin to spring the cell. Technically, we were still on the run. But it had been a year, and no one seemed to care and the wanted posters with our “faces” on them made me look attractive and Darius look hideous. So, there was no danger of us being recognized. 

“How did things go last night with Anika?” asked Darius after I managed to calm down. Last night had been date night. I got lucky with her, I could sit on a bench and talk to her for an hour with a small portion of some fried food and we'd both have a good time. I shrugged, a lazy grin working onto my face, prompting him to roll his eyes. “You know what, I’m sorry I asked.”  
“It was amazing,” I purred.  
Darius squeezed his eyes shut. “Please don’t say anything else.” I grinned.  
“She does this amazing thing with her ton—”  
“SHUT UP,” squawked Darius desperately, drawing the attention of a few passersby. I cackled evilly. “Cruel, cruel woman,” he muttered, gently shaking his head. Darius gradually collected himself and I used the opportunity to examine a few people on the street and a gaggle of men who strutted into The Palace. Fat cats. 

The moon disappeared from the sky by the time there was enough of a lull for either of us to speak again. “You’re taking your yearly trip up north tomorrow?” I nodded wordlessly. Seeing my family once a year was hard, especially Feyre who had a special place in my heart. Years ago, she’d been my partner in crime when Elain decided that Nesta was more fun than I was. Preposterous. Nesta acted like a cactus was wedged up her ass most hours of the day, during the other hours she was sleeping. 

The end of my shift rolled around with the break of dawn. Darius yawned and stretched along with me and we were relieved by Isaac, an old hand whose hair had started to go grey around six months ago. He’d panicked and showed up to work the next day bald after Rotty and I commented on it. 

I walked up the street towards the edges of the red-light district with Darius trailing by my side. Coffee shops were starting to open, welcoming in hangover customers who needed a pick-me-up before an early shift at work. The little omelet carts that let you choose what you wanted in your eggs were starting to open as well. They’d always seemed fanciful to me. I loved them. There was one which migrated around the red-light district named “EGG-STRVAGANZA” which made me laugh every time I saw it. 

We reached the main road that ran through the city. The Vye was broad enough for six horse carts to go shoulder-to-shoulder with no problem. The cobblestones that made up the street were smoothed by constant use, and they did a good job of hiding the sewer system below. 

“Goodbye Darius, I’ll see you in two weeks.” I gave him a brief hug, which he readily returned.  
“Bye Zoya. Look after yourself,” he said with a meaningful look. All I did was flash him a grin and turn towards the artist’s district. I had a few more chores to see to before I left the city. 

The artist’s district of Amre was the only truly beautiful part of the city. Paintings ran up the sides of each building, leaving the normally plain city awash in vibrant color. There were life-like depictions of people, animals, and plants. But then there were also nonsensical collages of color and shapes that ran rampant in the district as well. There was one staircase painted like a rainbow and a small alleyway with umbrellas hung high above, providing a dappled, colorful, shade. People busked on every corner, music lit up the entire district. Feyre would have loved it. 

It was such a beautiful contrast to my dark part of the city. If there was good in the world, it lived in these small, winding, streets that were decorated with chalk drawings that ran whenever it rained or dyed the snow different colors in winter. 

But I wasn’t here for the art or the fantastic music that bled out of the district in every direction. I was here for a weapons shop owner who failed to pay rent. His shop was right at the edge of the artist’s district. The weapons gleaming in the storefront window held their own kind of wicked beauty. Their honed blades glinted in the new morning sun. A large sign in the shop window read “OPEN” in bold red lettering. 

I took the invitation and strolled in, peeling off my layers when the heat hit me. Soon I was left only in a revealing top, it showed off my demon tattoo. It ran up the length of my back, all black and blood-red ink with rough, bleeding edges. Its leathery wings spread over the tops of my arms, the claws spread down to my elbow at their longest. Its hellfire eyes burned a bright, ruthless, red in the center of my back. It took up the entirety of my back. 

I didn’t look over at the shopkeeper, but I heard his intake of breath as I turned my back to him. He recognized me. I ignored him and perused the shelves, coming to a halt in front of racks of arrows. I grabbed a few and examined them. They were well-made, the fletching was straight, and the heads were good and heavy. Feyre could use a few. 

Counting out fifteen I took them and walked to the counter. The shopkeeper was leaning back in his chair, trying to seem relaxed. His sweating brow and wringing hands gave him away. 

“I’ll be taking these for five.” He balked.  
“They’re—they’re worth more than that,” he blustered, sweat dripping down his face and spittle flying from his indignant protest. I gave a noncommittal shrug.  
“You’re underpaying your rent, so I’ll be underpaying you.” The man’s demeanor instantly changed. His face swelled up and became red and he puffed his chest out. “I don’t know who’s been telling you those lies! You will pay full price for those, I spent a good amount of coin getting them made!”  
I quirked a brow at him and looked down my nose the same way Nesta did. It only seemed to infuriate him more. “Is that why you can’t afford rent?”  
“Listen here you little bitch—” He spat, swelling up to twice his size and pointing an accusing finger at me. “You will pay the full price for those and leave my shop!” His face was now roughly the shape and color of a tomato.  
“No,” I said flatly. 

Fast as lightening a beefy arm shot out and clamped around my collar, hauling me over the desk towards him. My short stature screwed me because now my feet were dangling off the floor. Seemingly from nowhere the shopkeeper pulled out a knife and rested it at my collarbone. The steel was well-honed, and it bit gently into my skin. I had no doubt that the knife could open me from navel to throat with no problem. 

“You will pay the full price and you will leave. I don’t care who’s holding your leash or that you’re some famous little pit fighter. You wouldn’t last a second against someone like me.” I confess I found myself curious.  
“Someone like you?” I questioned, tilting my head as far as I could to the side without accidentally opening myself over his knife.  
He sneered, baring his teeth at me, “I have proper training, you lot just fight like rabid dogs.” He wasn’t wrong, we did occasionally fight like dogs. 

The shopkeeper didn’t have a chance to react as one of my hands wrapped around his wrist in a vice grip, keeping his knife still. My other hand slammed into his throat. He doubled over and started coughing and choking. 

Poor baby.

In a heartbeat, his hair was twined in my fist and I was slamming his head into his desk repeatedly. The initial thuds quickly turned into sickening wet crunches as his nose gave way. Once I got bored I hoisted his head up using his hair. He looked dreadful. 

Blood dribbled down his entire face and his nose was squashed flat to the side. His lips were split in a few places and there were already vibrant bruises popping up all over his face. It usually took a few rounds to make someone look that bad. 

He’d long since dropped his beautiful knife onto his desk, which was now marred with a few scratches and his blood. “I’ll be taking these for five marks, and not one bit more,” I hissed into his ear as he tried to shy away. “You,” I said, pointing his own knife at him threateningly, “will pay your rent in full and your debts in full.” I jabbed the knife at him with each word to drive the message home. 

If the tears running down his face were any indication, he’d received the message loud and clear. I released his head, letting him slump back in his chair, trembling. I grinned at him and slid his knife into my belt and gathered up the arrows. Some wicked little part of me was enjoying this the same way I enjoyed a good fight. 

“I won’t defend us pit fighters against your rabid dog comment because, in all honesty, there’s some truth to it. I know that you’re behind on your rent because the person yanking your chain for rent is the same one who writes my paychecks.” 

The man’s eyes bulged. “Adrassy?” His voice was thick with the blood from his nose. 

“The very one,” I said easily, gathering up the arrows. I made my way to the door and strutted out merrily. “Good day!”

My apartment was on the edges of the red-light district. It made getting to work easier and rent lower. My apartment was on Burstrat Street, a tiny winding ally where the houses leaned precariously on each other and everything leaked all year. 

The apartment building was made of a mud-colored brick that seemed to deteriorate under any pressure. I climbed up the rundown staircase that went up the side of the apartment building. They were a health hazard. A few stairs were missing and there was no railing. If there was an age limit on drinking in this city, there should be an age limit on these stairs as well, since they probably claimed more lives a year. 

I pushed open the door to my apartment on the third, and topmost, floor. The door’s hinges screamed in protest at being used and the door only opened if I pushed my weight at it a certain way. If anything, the door’s ornery habits just acted as an extra security measure. Who’d want to rob a house whose door fought back?

The inside of my apartment was made of the same crumbling brick. There were a few pales scattered at random points to catch various leaks to the wooden floor didn’t rot. Apart from a small kitchenette and a bed in the far corner, there was nothing remarkable in my home. Nothing there to claim it as mine. 

In my bed was a body. I smirked slightly. The blonde had come here for around a month at random intervals before it became a regular thing. Whenever she got too stressed, and I was more than happy to act as stress relief. That had been the plan anyway, somewhere along the line it became serious fast. 

Somehow, she’d slept through the door’s racket, so I let her sleep. Her blonde curls splayed out across my pillow and she was snuggled into my blanket. I set about my home, pulling together various clothes and sticking them into a travel sack and I added the arrows to the haul. My knives were strapped to various parts of my body, one was even in the lining of my cloak. The new one got strapped to my thigh. It fit in nicely with the rest of my collection. 

“Zoya?” came a bleary voice. I turned around to see the blonde sitting up in my bed. Her curls frizzing to make a halo around her head. She was adorable. 

“Hey you,” I said easily. My voice always seemed to drop half an octave around her and I wasn’t entirely sure why or how to stop it. It was like a boy going through puberty. I should check my upper lip to make sure I wasn’t trying to sprout a mustache. 

She rolled out of bed and padded across the floor to me, using my blanket as a cloak. There was something viscerally satisfying about seeing her in my belongings. I tilted my head and let my forehead rest against hers. Her stormy blue eyes were bleary with sleep and her breath was warm.  
There was a small smattering of freckles along her nose and cheeks. There were eighty-three in total. I’d learned that one night when she’d fallen asleep on my arm, trapping me, and I’d gotten bored. 

She let out a small yawn, delicate shoulders rising and falling. Even half asleep she had more grace in her pinkie finger than most highborn girls. It came from her career as a dancer. She’d told me about a month in that she danced at clubs, stripping for crowds for her income. She’d broken down thinking that I wouldn’t want her anymore. I’d laughed and told her that I’d always want her and that I effectively hit people for a living so if anyone of us should be running it should be her. 

“When do you leave to head up north?” Anika questioned, snuggling into my bony side.  
“Later today, my usual guy is taking me.” She sighed and melted into me more. She was really very sweet when she was tired. “I’ll miss you,” she whispered into my shoulder, her words slurring slightly.  
“I’ll miss you too,” I responded, the response coming easily as breathing. The only other people I said that to was my family, and even then I only really meant it half the time. It truly depended on what insult Nesta hurled my way or what Elain chose to ignore. Feyre I’d always miss though, she had a spine and a kind soul. She was too good for the lot of us. 

I looked over at her puffy eyes which were struggling to stay open. “C’mon,” I murmured, tugging her towards my bed and depositing her there. I pulled off my outer layers and shoes and slid in next to her. Anika instantly twined her legs and arms with mine, resting her head on my slip-thin chest. 

“You could have left your boots on,” she muttered, “you have to go soon, and I don’t mind.” I smirked. “You that desperate for me?” Anika groaned and rolled her eyes.  
“You’re insufferable.”  
“I mind because I’d have to pay for the sheets to be cleaned if my boots touched them.”  
Anika scowled. “You and I may be inept, but we know how to clean sheets.”  
“My boots have been stomping through the red-light district. I don’t want to know what’s on them.” I smiled at the look of comprehension on her face.  
“Yes. Definitely keep those away from the sheets.” She dozed off for a few minutes, completely dead to the world. It had been a tough night apparently. My pocket watch heralded the passing of an hour and I gently extracted myself from her. It would take a while to walk over to the loading point, I’d need all the time I could get to arrive on time. 

I slid into my clothes and boots and hefted my travel sack. Ankia was blinking again, trying to stay awake for my departure. I walked over and pressed a soft kiss to her lips that she melted into. She tasted like honey and almonds. Her hand twined into my hair and pulled me close. It was an effort to pull away. She looked so beautiful every time we kissed, she was slightly breathless. 

“I love you,” I murmured. I’d waited over a year before telling her that, terrified that she’d run the other direction. She’d simply repeated the words as a few happy tears made their way down her freckled cheeks. It was the only time I’d made her cry, disregarding the time I made her try my spicy noodles and her eyes had streamed for an hour regardless of how much water she drank. 

Admittedly, having one of the most beautiful women in Amre in my life did wonders for my ego. I still wasn’t completely sure what she saw in me when she could have anyone in the city, man or woman. I dressed in old clothes and almost exclusively in black where she flounced through the streets in breezy skirts and a smile that gave me heart palpitations. One end of it was higher than the other. When I’d breached the topic with her she’d simply laughed and said that it did wonders for her ego that one of the most notorious and senior pit fighters was at her beck and call. 

She wasn’t wrong, according to Darius I was “whipped.” 

I pressed a kiss to her forehead and laid her down again, and with a whisper of “sleep” she crashed again, and I slipped out the door. I made a mental note to take her out to a nice dinner when I got back. We’d get lamb, her favorite, even if I hated it. 

The streets of Amre had filled up again since the nighttime rush. There were horse carriages careening around every corner and shouting vendors in the streets. I joined the hubbub of people and gradually made my way to the other end of the city, towards the “docks.”

The true sea docks of Amre were on the opposite side of the “docks.” The sea docks opened out into the sea. The “docks” opened into the roads that spread across the lands below The Wall. It was always fun to watch tourists get the two mixed up and end up and the land-bound docks with their boating equipment. 

The area was filled to the brim with different wagons, all carrying different goods. My ride would be waiting for me the same place it waited every year: outside The Prancing Pony Tavern. It was a small establishment that made excellent shepherd’s pie and ales but unfortunately looked like a rundown shack from the outside. 

I strolled in through the perpetually open door into a cloud of cigarette smoke. I wrinkled my nose. I’d smoked before I’d met Anika, when I realized that the smoke made it hard for her to breathe I’d instantly stopped. As much as I enjoyed my various vices, watching Anika try to catch her breath and turn slightly blue in the face was painful. So that had been the end of my smoking days. Now I relied on alcohol and fighting to fill the category of “destructive vices in my life.” 

Sitting at the bar, in the third seat from the left, as always, was Gale. A fur trader in his forties, he offered me a cheap fair up to my village in return for taking care of the heavy lifting on the journey. His back had given out a few years ago so he needed the help in the winter when the pain was at its worst due to the bitter cold. In Amre it wasn’t so bad, but once we headed further north the cold would be near unbearable. 

Gale was engaging in his favorite pastime when his wife wasn’t around; day drinking. The man was built like a flask with a large belly, and he shared the same properties as one. He was red in the face and giggling at another patron, who was deeper in their cups than he was. Drunk as Gale was though, he would sober up fast in the chill outside and he’d been running the same route for so long that he could do it drunk and blindfolded while upside-down. 

“ZOYA,” he roared as he caught sight of me, “you’re early!”  
“I’m on time,” I deadpanned. It was true too, my pocket watch read before noon. He frowned at me and burst out laughing. “For you that’s early!”

He slammed his drink onto the counter and left it there half-finished with a few shining coins and hustled past me into the freezing cold. He great stomach shifted from side to side with each step he took. “Come on girl,” he called back to me as I lingered to try and soak up the heat. 

He led me over to his two wagons. Both were stacked well over their brim with provisions and different animal pelts. Each was pulled by a pair of mules. He’d let his son name one pair, and his daughter name the other. So, the male mules, named Puppy (in honor of the puppy that his son had wanted and not gotten) and Chicken (in honor of his son’s favorite food), pulled the first wagon in the procession. Gale always rode with Puppy and Chicken to direct the procession, but for me, it was a toss-up of which wagon actually had room. 

The female mules, named Des and Troy (because together they des-troy-ed, worthy names considering they’d broken down a few fences), seemed to have a little more room on their wagon so I slid in with them, huddling amongst the furs for warmth. Gale’s whip cracked, and the wagons shuddered forwards, with the boys leading the way and us girls following behind. 

Gale was already chewing on a large wad of sourleaf to curb his back pain and to give him something else to focus on. Sourleaf was admittedly useful, it acted as a painkiller and entertainment all in one, its only downsides were its taste and color. 

For the first few minutes, sourleaf would taste like sinking your teeth into a lemon, once the taste mellowed over time it shifted to only slight discomfort. It was certainly an acquired taste. But the real kicker was the way it dyed one’s mouth red. It usually looked like someone’s mouth was bleeding when they chewed the leaf. But Gale used it for his back and I had a wad of it in my travel pack. The stuff was downright useful. 

The wagons rumbled along easily while Gale hummed tunelessly. The man couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket with a lid, but he loved to sing all the same. The days stuck in the back of his carts bled by in a blur of humming or rowdy verses of drinking songs which became progressively more lewd. It was three days before we pulled into a market square in a little village called Motte according to a rundown sign. Gale jogged off to find a drink and possible buyers while I wandered through the food stands. 

As a massively picky eater, finding anything appealing was difficult. I eventually settled on hard cheese and a loaf of coarse brown bread. It was hard to go wrong with bread. As I cradled my purchases in the back of the boy’s wagon Gale came jogging up to me in a huff. 

“There are rumors of wolves the size of horses prowling near our villages, close to The Wall.” He ran a nervous hand through his hair, which was now drenched with sweat despite the cold. It had nothing to do with running across town. Gale hated wolves. He found them terrifying. Ironic considering that he hunted them for their pelts. There was some childhood story behind it, but he’d never wanted to share so I never pried. “They say that there’s been strange folk sighted in the woods too.” 

I sighed. “They’re probably just old crone’s tales Gale. We’re by The Wall, anything is automatically exaggerated and turned into a monster.” I gave him what I hoped was a reassuring smile to no avail, his hands were still shaking. 

Superstitious people often twisted perfectly normal things into monsters. Rumors like this around The Wall weren’t hard to come by either. Fear and paranoia were bred into people up North because if the faeries ever came below The Wall, we’d be the first to go.

“No,” Gale argued, leaning in to whisper. “There was a girl who ended up near my village a few days ago with large claw marks running down her. A boy from the village said he saw a wolf the size of a horse hunched over her.”  
“Gale…” I trailed off, trying to figure out how to put him at ease. “Everything seems bigger to boys and it’s not like they aren’t prone to exaggeration. It was probably just a normal wolf and a girl who got unlucky.” Gale still didn’t look happy. “It’s just old crones’ tales and gossip, don’t let it worry you,”  
“You don’t know that,” muttered Gale, completely paranoid. “There were rumors of a large pig-man with talons, walking upright like a man through the woods. Ten people saw that. You still want to tell me it’s made up?” Gale was strapping everything to his wagon and he dug out an ax that he used to collect firewood and laid it down next to him. I hauled myself up and sat next to him, letting him note my relaxed posture and many knives. 

“Sideshows often shave bears and present them as pig-men. That just sounds like a bear with mange to me.” I shrugged and pretended to be completely relaxed. Gale seemed to latch on to that, muttering furiously to himself, “get a grip, just a bear, just a normal wolf, no faeries, no faeries, no faeries…” 

While Gale muttered reassurances to himself and urged the mules onwards I fought a chill that spider-walked down my spine. I was grateful that Gale hadn’t picked up on the one glaring hole in my reassurance: any bears would be hibernating this time of year and a bear without its fur would be dead. 

Gale didn’t talk, sing, or even hum for the next two days. He simply dropped a wagon off at his house with his furs and had the boys, Puppy and Chicken, give us a ride to my village, less than two miles away. He’d wrung his hands for the last few days and jumped at every shadow. When we saw his wife briefly he only greeted her with a brisk hug before dragging me off to the wagon with a deranged mutter of: need to go fast and get back before sundown. 

His wife had looked affronted and I gave her an apologetic look as he hauled me away to the wagon. It was a terrible greeting for a woman he frequently described as, “the best woman in the world.” 

The road to my family’s cottage was quiet and he dropped me off a couple hundred paces away. Well away from the woods that loomed out behind our cottage. I’d only just given him the money I owed him for the ride when he wheeled the wagon around and urged the boys into a trot. He wanted to put as much room as possible between himself and the snow-covered woods that resembled the winter wonderland that wealthy people in Amre often tittered about and wished for. It was beautiful. It was the worst time of year to try and stay alive. 

I absently considered wandering into the forest to chops down some firewood later. The pile of firewood outside the cottage had only a few pieces and was looking very sorry indeed. A small part of me pulled back against that idea and I was vaguely reminded of a conversation I’d had with Feyre when she’d only just started venturing into the woods. 

“Would you go into the woods if you heard there were large monsters roaming them who would tear into you without a second thought?”  
“Yes.”  
“Would you believe it if someone told you they had seen these monsters?”  
“No.” Feyre insisted stubbornly.  
“Would you believe it if half the village told you they had seen monsters in the woods?”  
“No,” said Feyre irritably, “It’s just superstitious people and mass hysteria.”  
“Then let me ask you this,” I paused to consider her jaw, which was set defiantly, “Would you go into the woods?”  
I watched her hesitate. “No.”  
“Good,” I said flatly. “Half the town comes to you and tells you that there’s something dangerous you stay the hell away from it. It doesn’t matter if they’re saying its monsters, that’s an old crone’s tale, but you hear about something dangerous that everyone’s scared of, stay away.” 

Debating whether or not I should take my own advice I wandered towards the cottage. The sun was close to touching the horizon, dyeing the sky a magnificent blood-red. The snow was nearly up to my mid-thigh in some places and my feet lost any feeling they gained from standing inside the warmth of Gale’s house. 

I made it to the door of the cottage without falling into a snowdrift and knocked on the door. And waited.


	3. Chapter 2

After a few moments, the door swung open to reveal my twin, Elain. I hadn’t seen her in a year. Faster than I could register she was squeezing me into a tight hug that I returned. I pulled back to examine her while she ran her mouth a mile a minute, bringing me up to date on the town’s gossip and what I’d missed. 

Elain was still lovely. Our plummet into poverty hadn’t diminished her desire to look lovely. Her golden-brown hair curled gently to frame her face and her rich brown eyes were sparkling. I stepped inside past her and took off my boots by the door after I kicked some of the snow off them. Elain’s shoes were looking slightly worn, but both her and Nesta’s shoes were generally still in good condition. At least that was one thing that didn’t need replacing. 

Elain dragged me to one of the cottage’s two rooms, where father and Nesta were sitting. Nesta was pointedly ignoring him as usual. Nesta’s face was already halfway to a sneer when she saw me come through the door. It was remarkable how much she looked like mother, especially when she was irritated or mad. 

“Sticks,” she gritted out, looking me up and down. She never really liked it when I visited. I took up space and I was another mouth to feed, but fortunately for her, I could only stay a few days out of the year. And it wasn’t like she contributed at all to putting food on the table here, that was all me and Feyre. I sent part of my paycheck, whatever I could spare, up to Feyre each month so that she could use it to feed the family. 

“How are you Nesta?” I asked, trying for a civil conversation. Nesta sneered. A promising start. 

“Why do you even bother coming?” She hissed. “Isn’t it better for you in that city where you lay on your back and open up your legs for money?” Somewhere along the line, Nesta had decided that I must be a working girl, and I’d never bothered to correct her. If she wanted to fling wildly inaccurate venom at me she was more than welcome to. It was better that she wasn’t able to hit closer to home, she’d done it to me in the past and I hadn’t enjoyed it. So, when Nesta manufactured the incorrect assumption, I’d simply not denied or approved it and let her make her own deduction. 

“I’m doing well, thank you for asking,” I said, not skipping a beat. I turned my gaze to father, who’d blushed uncomfortably at the insinuation Nesta had made. “Hello,” I said, and he offered me a small smile and a soft, “hello,” in return. The one downside of Nesta’s assumption was that Elain and Father bought into it and seemed to generally handle me with oven mitts now. They weren’t entirely comfortable with my “career.” 

I wonder how they’d feel if they knew my true career. Pit fighter and bouncer. 

I sat down on a stool, relaxed as anything. Sitting on something that wasn’t moving or jolting after so many days in a wagon felt like heaven. Elain had clammed up when Nesta had started on me, reminding her of my “profession” so now she’d turned away from me and was chatting with Nesta about the latest gossip in the village. 

“Where’s Feyre?” I asked suddenly. I knew the answer. Out in the woods while everyone else was safe here. 

“Hunting,” said Elain, while Nesta simply ignored me. Father nodded in agreement and went back to fiddling with a small wooden figurine in his hand, adding details with a small knife. Bastards, some unforgiving part of me hissed, for not helping, ever. 

I sighed and rubbed at my eyes. I must be truly exhausted if I’d started hating my family so fast.  
It was well past dark when the door swung open. “Feyre!” gasped Elain, hurrying to the door. The perfect coil of hair on her head releasing a few gently curling hairs as she did so. I felt a flicker of jealousy as I noticed Elain’s hair. All my sisters shared the same, golden-brown hair while mine remained a lank brown. 

“Where did you get that?” I heard Elain ask, a sharp undercurrent of hunger lacing her voice. I hauled myself from the chair to see what Feyre had brought home and nearly chocked when I saw Feyre dump a large doe and massive wolf pelt across the table. But what really caught my attention was the blood spattered across her clothes. 

“Where do you think I got it?” replied Feyre, somehow still managing sarcasm while she looked bone-tired. 

Before Feyre could react or realize it was me, my hands were patting her down and checking for injuries or any blood that might have been hers. I didn’t have time to react when Feyre pulled me in for a hug, getting blood all over my clothes, but I couldn’t have cared less. “Hello Feyre,” I chuckled into her enthusiastic embrace. “Hello Zoya,” she said back, smiling. 

I gestured to the blood covering her, “Are you alright?” Feyre gave a wordless nod and smiled again. She’d had the same smile for as long as I could remember, and it was adorable. 

I glowered over to where Elain was standing, staring longingly at the deer. Elain didn’t even notice the wolf pelt or its size, or the situation Feyre would have had to be in to retrieve it. She made no comment about the blood covering Feyre. There was no hint of concern. The idea of my sisters using Feyre was a meal ticket and nothing more infuriated me, but Nesta and Elain seemed to have a complete mental block against doing work. A little part of me wondered if they’d even notice if Feyre never returned from those woods. 

“How long will it take you to clean it?” Elain questioned, an innocent question but the phrasing was infuriating. You. She and Nesta always shoved responsibility onto Feyre. Elain didn’t necessarily intend to be mean or demanding, it simply wouldn’t occur to her that she was capable of helping or getting her hands dirty. I loved my twin, but she needed to come to grips with the real world and our situation. 

“Feyre,” came father’s deep rumble. Like Elain and Nesta he made an effort to remain presentable despite our poverty. Nesta and Elain managed their hair into different styles and kept their hands soft and clean. Father kept his hands clean and his clothes clean the same way my sisters managed their appearance: doing absolutely nothing. “What luck you had today—in bringing us such a feast.” 

Nesta snorted, instantly dismissing any praise that wasn’t intended for her. She dismissed anything said by anyone who wasn’t Elain.

I ignored her, I’d learned as a child that Nesta’s head was wedged impossibly far up her ass, a medical condition which had only worsened in poverty. Her attitude was awful and some small part of me relished the thought of what would happen if she ever went to The Pits with that attitude. The fighters wouldn’t take kindly to her to say the least. No one who made it to the rank of senior fighter was ever stupid or had a bad attitude, we were all there for the same reasons: to have a good fight and pull ourselves up by our bootstraps. 

I glanced over to Feyre and watched as she glared at Nesta and stifled an irritated sigh. Nesta had taken to loss of the fortune especially hard, quietly blaming father for everything. Even hating him for an injury that he didn’t ask for and couldn’t fix. At least Nesta didn’t seem convinced that we’d one day gain back our fortune, as that was all father ever seemed to talk about. 

Father, Nesta, and Elain could all find work if they tried. But none of them had. Nesta and Elain expected a husband to support them eventually and father was too ashamed of his leg and loss of status to find work. Nesta hated him for his injury—for not fighting back when the creditor and his thugs burst into the cottage and smashed his knee again and again. Nesta and Elain had no right to complain, they hadn’t tried to help, choosing instead to barricade themselves in their room. Feyre, still young, had stayed and begged for father. 

I’d fought back some against my better judgment. I’d stabbed one of the thugs repeatedly with a dull butter knife, which had earned me two broken ribs. I’d healed in a few weeks without help but it became very clear very fast that father would not recover quickly or completely recover at all. He hadn’t batted an eye five years ago when the money ran out and Feyre said she was going to hunt in the woods. He hadn’t batted an eye two years before that when I said I was leaving and that I’d send money when I could. It took a month before I could send them money, and ever since then I’d kept up a constant stream of money for them. 

Elain and Nesta were eyeing up the wolf pelt, guessing at how much it could be sold for. “I’d love a new cloak,” Elain said at last with a sigh, at the same time that Nesta declared that she needed a new pair of boots. 

“Your boots are still shiny while Feyre’s worn hers ragged. If anyone’s getting new boots it’s her,” I snarled, glaring Nesta down.  
“Well,” snipped Nesta, “maybe if she didn’t spend so much time running around the woods they would last longer.”  
I rolled my eyes. Nesta’s glares didn’t hold the same gravity they once did. The Pits had given me some much-needed confidence. “Well,” I snipped, imitating her tone, “maybe if you didn’t need to eat to stay alive Feyre wouldn’t have to.” 

Before the argument could heat up our attention was drawn by Elain, who was whining Feyre’s name in a desperate bid for a new cloak. Nesta clicked her tongue at Elain, prompting her to shut up. The two of them quickly became immersed in an argument over who would get the money Feyre sold the pelt for. I made a mental note to give them both a kick up the ass. 

Father was now braced against the table, having hobbled over, and he was examining Feyre’s wolf pelt. “Feyre,” he murmured. “Where did you get this?”  
“The same place I got the deer,” Feyre replied coolly. Father’s eyes turned damp and he examined the bow and quiver strapped to Feyre’s back and the hunting knife in her belt. I’d gifted it to her a few years back. “The risk…” I rolled my eyes. 

“I had no other choice,” snapped Feyre. It was her cordial way of reminding father that he didn’t leave the house most days and that our sisters couldn’t be bothered to get jobs, believing themselves above it. It was her way of saying that without her they would have starved to death years ago. She was right. If Feyre wasn’t here I would have told them all to suck it up a long time ago and simply ditched them. Heartless, probably. But more practical. 

“Feyre,” he repeated uselessly and closed his eyes. Any shame he felt, he deserved. He was still mentally and physically able, able enough to find work. I’d seen people in worse binds in Amre fighting and earning a living. He was able to, he just didn’t want to because he was ashamed. Coward. 

My sisters had gone silent. Nesta crinkled her nose up at Feyre and sniffed her before picking at Feyre’s threadbare cloak. “You stink like a pig covered in its own filth. Can’t you at least try to pretend that you’re not an ignorant peasant?” 

Feyre did a good job of not letting the sting show. Living with Nesta gave everyone thick skin but some things still cut deep. When the money stopped, Feyre had been too young to have learned more than the basics of manners, reading, and writing. 

Nesta ran a hand over her braided coils imperiously. “Take those disgusting clothes off,” she ordered. Feyre’s jaw worked. Mine was working too. “Can you make a pot of hot water and add wood to the fire?”

As Feyre said this she seemed to note the woodpile, which had only five pieces left. “I thought you were going to chop wood today,” she said softly, staring down Nesta. Nesta simply picked at her long, neat, nails.  
“I hate chopping wood. I always get splinters.” At this moment Nesta looked identical to mother, all dark eyelashes, and condescending tones. “Besides,” she added, her eyes noting Feyre and I’s hands, “Feyre you’re so much better at it! It takes you half the time it takes me. Same with you Zoya. Both of you have hands that are suited for it—they’re already so rough.” 

A scowl etched itself onto my face. Feyre and I did have rougher hands by virtue of our work. Using a bow and hunting was hard work, leaving Feyre calloused. I used my hands on a nightly business to beat people to a pulp and lift cartons for the bartenders when they couldn’t manage the weight. 

“Please,” gritted out Feyre, trying to calm her breathing. “Please get up at dawn to chop that wood or we’ll be eating a cold breakfast.”  
Nesta’s brows narrowed. “I will do no such thing!” I would’ve kept my mouth shut but Nesta was pushing all the wrong buttons with me.  
“Then starve,” I said flatly, interrupting whatever Feyre was about to say. “If you want hot food you can get off your ass and earn it.” 

Feyre left the room, giving my hand a brief squeeze as she passed by me. I simply went around the kitchen and collected a few knives to help skin the deer. I examined the blades and pretended to ignore Nesta as she fumed and glared at me. Deciding that none of the blades were sharp enough to make easy work of the deer I pulled out one of my own. The knife I’d taken from the shopkeeper. 

It was beautiful, all ripply steel with a still-fresh leather hilt that fit my hand perfectly. Nesta and Elain seemed momentarily frozen at my conjuring a foot-long knife from somewhere in my clothing. Without waiting for Feyre I cut into the deer and began to skin it. 

It was easy work as the knife did most of it, gliding seamlessly along the deer and pulling its pelt from it. A small shudder ran down my spine as I imagined how easy it would have been for the knife to cut open my throat. It took mere minutes to free the deer of its pelt, which I’d removed perfectly. Nesta and Elain watched in the background for a while before returning to their gossip of ribbons and a cute boy in the village. Feyre emerged from the room in fresh clothes and said a soft “thank you” when she saw the skinned deer and she began to help me butcher it. 

We dined on roasted venison that night. I’d only managed to eat half of what everyone else had, giving the part I hadn’t touched to Feyre, who wolfed it down. Nesta was complaining about the villagers and their lack of social graces. One of her favorite pastimes.

“Well, I said to him, ‘If you think you can just ask me so nonchalantly, sir, I’m going to decline!’ And you know what Tomas said?” arms braced against the table and eyes wide, Elain shook her head.  
“Tomas Mandray?” Feyre interrupted. “The woodcutter’s second son?” I scowled. Apparently, everyone knew who Tomas was apart from me, hardly surprising considering that I spent most of the year away in Amre. 

Nesta’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Yes,” she said, and shifter to address Elain again.  
“What does Tomas Mandray want with you?” Feyre interrupted again. Before Neta could rebuke Feyre for disrupting her tale Elain broke in. “He wants to marry her,” Elain said dreamily. 

I blinked. Feyre blinked. I burst out laughing, alarming everyone else in the room. 

“Someone—Someone wants to marry you?” I managed to gasp out disbelievingly, laughing heartily at the look of outrage on Nesta’s face. She’d gone white with rage. “Are they doing this willingly?” I continued, still giggling to myself.  
“Is there a problem, Zoya?” Nesta snarled at me, flinging my name like an insult. 

Feyre broke in before Nesta could try to stick my head on a spike or the whole town to see. “You can’t chop wood for us, but you want to marry a woodcutter’s son?” Feyre questioned disbelievingly while I enjoyed the irony.  
“No Feyre,” I snickered, “that’s the entire point. If he’s a woodcutter’s son he’ll be good at chopping wood, so she won’t have to.” Feyre rolled her eyes and gave me a look that very clearly said: shut up before you make things worse for yourself. 

Nesta squared her shoulders and glared at us, a fighting stance if I’d ever seen one. “I thought all you ever wanted was for us to get out of the house—to marry me and Elain off so you can have enough time to paint your glorious masterpieces.” Nesta sneered disdainfully at the nearest piece of Feyre’s artwork, a blue rendering of foxglove on the table leg, before turning on me. “Isn’t that all you’ve ever wanted too? To be rid of us so you could run off into the sunset whoring yourself out?” 

I was an effort not to laugh again. It was still amazing to me that Nesta though people would pay to have sex with me. It was an effort to keep a straight face as I said, “All I’ve ever wanted is to immerse myself in my job, and to teach others to do as well as I have.” 

It was true, I’d been thinking of opening up a school to teach kids to fight and defend themselves, adults, too. Everyone deserved to have some form of training so that they could protect themselves. Anika had already decided that if I ever got a school up and running she would quit her job and help me run it. 

But with Nesta’s belief that I was a working girl the statement took on a whole new meaning, causing Elain and Nesta to wheel away from me in disgust. 

“There’s nothing you can do anyway,” Nesta hissed at Feyre. “Clare Beddor told me this afternoon that Tomas is going to propose to me any day now. And then I’ll never have to eat these scraps again,” she added with a small smile. “At least I won’t resort to rutting in the hay with Isaac Hale like some animal or opening my legs for money.”

I assumed that Feyre was with someone named Isaac Hale because if I was rutting in the hay with him like an animal it was news to me. Our father let out an embarrassed cough at the topic. Feyre laid her hands flat on the table and stared Nesta down. Elain whipped her hands away from Feyre’s as though the dirt on Feyre’s hands might spread to hers. I rolled my eyes, it was fast becoming a reflex.

“Tomas’s family is barely better off than ours,” growled Feyre. “You’d just be another mouth to feed and if Tomas doesn’t know this, then his parents must.” Feyre paused, considering her words before plunging ahead, “we can’t afford a dowry,” her voice was still firm, but it had lost some of its bite. “For either of you.”

She was right. We had nothing and could offer nothing in return for a good match. 

“We’re in love,” Nesta declared. Trust Nesta to go from berating the villagers to making eyes at one in a matter of seconds. It was an effort not to laugh or examine the statement.

I wanted to ask Nesta if she thought that this woodcutter’s boy could drain the misery out of her world and fill it with color. Or if the reason she cried “love” was because she didn’t want a hellish life and the promise of something slightly better was something to latch on to and defend with strong words. I wanted to ask her if Tomas was an escape plan or something genuine and real. 

“Love won’t feed a hungry belly,” argued Feyre. That did it. Nesta leaped up from her seat on the bench. “You’re just jealous. I heard them saying how Isaac is going to marry some Greenfield village girl for a handsome dowry.”

“Jealous?” Feyre said slowly, as though she wasn’t sure if she’d heard Nesta correctly. I watched as one of Feyre’s hands curled into a fist. She was furious. “We have nothing to offer them—no dowry; no livestock even. While Tomas might want to marry you…you’re a burden.”

“What do you know?” Nesta breathed. “You’re just a half-wild beast with the nerve to bark orders at all hours of the day and night. Keep it up, and someday—someday, Feyre, you’ll have no one left to remember you, or to care that you ever existed.” 

A furious snarl ripped out of my throat. It was the same noise I made when I walked into a fighting ring. “Listen here,” I spat, making Nesta fix her burning eyes on me. “You keep spitting poisonous barbs at people to gain some sense of superiority, to make falling asleep at night easier, and someday very soon you will have no one to care about you or love you or remember you.” Nesta opened her mouth to spit some of her poison at me but I pressed on, the words tumbling out. “I’m sorry that all that matters to you in life is money because you’re losing everything else around you. Money won’t buy you a family that loves and cares about you. Money won’t buy someone to remember you. So, I’m sorry you don’t have your precious little dresses or parties anymore, but I’m more sorry that that’s all that matters to you.” 

Nesta didn’t let me get another word out, shooting up from the bench she stormed into our room, closely followed by my twin who was cooing her sympathies. Nesta slammed the door behind them hard enough to make the cottage rattle. 

I loosened out a sigh. “I haven’t even been here a full day, and this is where we are,” muttered to myself, prompting a halting chuckle from Feyre who’d gone back to drinking her hot water. 

“You should talk some sense into her,” Feyre said pointedly at father. I didn’t envy him. Feyre’s glares could melt people in their boots. “What can I say?” He said softly, no fight left in him. No spine either. “If it’s love—”  
“It can’t be love,” Feyre argued, “not on his part.”  
“He wants one thing from her and it’s not her heart, it’s between her legs,” I chipped in. 

“He gives her hope,” Father continued to argue, his eyes clear for once. “We need hope as much as we need bread and meat. We need hope, or else we cannot endure. So, let her keep this hope you two. Let her imagine a better life. A better world.” 

Feyre stood up from the table, her hands curled into fists at her sides and looked down at the foxglove painting which had started to chip. Her gaze was hard as she pinned it on our father. “There is no such thing.”


	4. Chapter Four

Nesta woke at dawn to chop wood, an ass-kissing attempt to get money from Feyre once she sold the wolf pelt. But it got done, so neither Feyre or I commented on her motives. 

Feyre bundled up the wolf and deer pelts and we made our way to the market square. Nesta and Elain trailed causally behind us. It was market day, so the vendors that dared to brave the cold filled up the market square and screamed out competing prices for their products. 

As we headed for the market and rounded a corner we smacked into a pale-robed young woman. A Child of the Blessed. 

“May the Immortal Light shine upon thee sisters,” said the little girl as she stood directly in our way.  
“I fantasize about strangling fae with their own internal organs,” I deadpanned, taking satisfaction in the way her jaw dropped. I side-stepped her and left my sisters to deal with her. If anyone could get the girl to leave and never come back, it was Nesta. She had a talent for making people want to run for the hills. Idiots who worshipped our old owners and slaughterers didn’t deserve to be spared from Nesta’s wrath. 

Feyre caught up with me first. “Did you have to say that?” She questioned, looking vaguely irritated. “She babbled about how harming our fae friends was a horrible sin.” I snickered and continued on, letting Feyre match my brisk pace. “Where are Elain and Nesta?”

“I told them to go be somewhere else while I sell these,” Feyre said, hefting the pelts. I nodded in understanding. “I’m going to browse. I’ll meet you back here in an hour?” Feyre nodded in assent and we went our separate ways. 

I strolled through the vendors’ stands which were basic and bare. The butcher was only selling small portions of dried meat and less desirable cuts, keeping the better cuts for his store where the servants of the wealthy in our town would buy them for their great meals. There was an old lady and a girl who was probably her granddaughter selling woven baskets and anything you could imagine necessary to mend or make clothing. 

I found a little old man who was selling watches. He’d been disappointed when I said I already had a pocket watch. There was a lady selling small jars of honey and little pots of spices. All too expensive for us, but there were a few people buying up salt and pepper. I ran into Elain and Nesta while the admired a woman who had an impressive collection of clothing for sale. Including the desired boots and cloak that they had begged money for. 

I was on a small stand selling dried fruits and cheese and shamelessly taking advantage of the free samples with zero intention of buying anything when I spotted Nesta and Elain standing and watching Feyre bargain. I would have dismissed it as their typical leeching nature, but Nesta was wound tightly as a spring, so I wandered over. 

Nesta was grinding her teeth and her fists were clenched. She didn’t approve. Feyre talking to a mercenary was, somehow, the end of the world. The mercenary was well-dressed and equipped, knives gleamed on her person and her cloak was thick. Mercenaries in this part of the world were paid well by paranoid rich people who wanted a meat shield between them and a faerie. Feyre handed over the pelts and the mercenary handed over a pouch of coins, which Feyre cradled.

The mercenary’s knives were gorgeous, all ripply steel and worn leather hilts. I had similar ones, one even had a hilt made from a bone (I hadn’t dared ask what type of bone), but mine had mostly all been gifts or prizes. The mercenary’s knives and sword likely cost a small fortune.

I’d been so caught up in admiring the knives that I hadn’t realized Nesta had left my side and was now towing Feyre away from the mercenary. “They’re dangerous,” she hissed as she toted Feyre along, Feyre teetering dangerously as Nesta kept her off-balance. “Don’t go near them again.”

“Rich of you to start issuing orders,” I muttered, “Especially when she’s just bought the pelts for a good price.” Nesta shut me up with a glare. 

“Is there something I need to know?” Feyre questioned quietly.  
“They’re brutes,” Nesta growled vindictively. “They will take any copper they can get, even if it’s by force.”  
Realization dawned. Muggings were common in Amre, and I usually didn’t care, hell I’d been mugged a few times. The first time I’d been scared, the times after that the tattoo running down my arms had quickly scared off my would-be attackers. A reputation was worth a lot. But the thought of it happening to my sisters twisted my stomach. 

“She robbed you?” asked Feyre.  
“Not her,” Elain murmured. “Some other one who passed through. We only had a few coins, and he got mad but—”  
“Why didn’t you report him—or tell me?” Feyre as hurting, to her it was a violation of trust. She put pressure on herself to protect our family, and she’d count the mugging as a failure on her part. Her own sisters not telling her was rubbing salt into the wound. 

“What could you have done?” Nesta sneered. “Challenged him to a fight with your bow and arrows?” The words hit Feyre where it hurt. “And who in this sewer of a town would even care if we reported anything?”

She had a point. No one cared what happened to us here because we didn’t have money. It would have been the same in Amre, or anywhere else for that matter. The more money you had, the more people cared about you. Almost made me feel sorry for rich people, who knew who their real friends were?

“What about your Tomas Mandray?” Feyre questioned coolly, hitting Nesta right back. Nesta’s eyes flashed as the words hit their mark. 

“Is he still in town?” I broke in, hoping to avoid a public family meltdown in the middle of the market square. No doubt it would do wonders for our already crap reputation. Nesta shrugged while Elain nodded vigorously. “I saw him down by the butcher’s shop yesterday.” I turned over that piece of information and examined it. 

“Your friend is waiting for you,” Nesta said sweetly to Feyre, a false smile on her face. I turned to see a young skinny man standing a few paces off with his arms crossed. Isaac Hale. As far as men in this village went, Feyre wasn’t doing too badly for herself, even if she would never marry the guy. He didn’t seem to have a sixth and seventh finger on his left hand the way one of Elain’s old admirers had. 

Nesta clicked her tongue disapprovingly, staring down her nose at the young man. “I do hope you two are taking precautions.” 

“It’s a bit late to pretend to care,” Feyre said as she pulled a coin from her purse, it caught the light and glinted invitingly. A twenty-mark copper. Big money up here, especially for our family. She placed it in Elain’s hand. “I’ll see you at home,” she said shortly, dismissing us. 

Nesta and Elain quickly bustled away to spend Feyre’s hard-earned money. Elain was feeling so elated by the money that she even cast me a look asking if I wanted to tag along shopping. I shook my head no. “I’m going to go steal more free samples,” I supplied at her confused look. 

When I glanced back Feyre was trailing Isaac out of town. As cute as mini Feyres would be, I hoped she was taking precautions. 

Leaving her to her business I headed off to the butcher’s shop. 

It was like every other building in this area of town. The same two-floor build, with the butcher and his family living on the top floor. Through the windows I could see chunks of meat hanging from hooks, there was an entire half-cow in the far corner. In the summer it was swarmed with flies, but they’d all died with the cold. There were a few people in servant’s liveries buying good cuts of meat for the families they served, and scraps of meat for their own dinners. We’d be lucky to buy anything from the shop, even the gristly little scraps. 

I circled the building, and sure enough, there was a tent pitched behind it. It was of a quality make, with fabric that appeared to be thick enough to provide some insulation. The man, mercenary, was sitting in front of the tent sharpening a well-made knife. He was as well-paid as other mercenaries in the area. The rich got meat shields while the rest of us prayed to long-forgotten gods for mercy from the dangerous predators to the north. 

There was a generous scattering of scars littering his face. In my experience a man with a lot of scars was never a seasoned fighter, he was usually someone who didn’t know how to duck. 

He was all dressed up in boiled leather and a well-made, matching, set of tunic and pants. Rage coiled in my gut. He didn’t even need the money he stole off my sisters. He had no reason to scar them other than to fuel his ego and sense of power. I knew men like him in Amre. I hated them all.

On cat-soft feet, I walked towards him. I dropped into a swagger, hips shifting with each step, and rolling out my shoulders. This would be too easy. 

I left the alleyway with a sack of money in my pocket, a smirk on my face, and a few new knives. It was nice of him to sharpen them for me. 

The man’s pained groans rang out behind me, mingled with curses. He wouldn’t be using his right hand to wield a knife anytime soon, especially since it was still pinned to the butcher’s shop back wall with a serrated knife that was usually used for cutting bread.


	5. Chapter Five

After a satisfying venison dinner, we had all gathered around the fire for warmth. Elain and Nesta were giggling together over their time shopping. I’d managed to get a laugh out of Elain earlier after telling her about a particularly drunk patron’s pool table antics, but once Nesta had sat down I’d become irrelevant. Father was dozing lightly in his chair, his ruined knee propped up and on display. My eyes had been starting to drift shut when a massive roar reverberated around the cottage. Elain and Nesta screamed as an enormous, growling shape appeared in the doorway. 

Elain and Nesta were shrieking. Father was terror-stricken, trying to hide behind his chair, as though it could save him. He’ die first if we ended up running. Feyre and I were on our feet. Feyre with a knife I’d given her a long time ago in her hand. I’d moved to take out one of my knives, but the size of the monster in the doorway made me draw two. They were toothpicks compared to the monster’s bulk. 

It had been a long time since I’d felt true fear, but I still recognized the bitter taste of it. 

The golden beast was the size of a horse, with a feline body, wolf head, and elk horns. It looked as though a drunk ten-year-old boy had gotten into his father’s liquor and designed a creature. Feyre had placed herself between the beast and our sisters and I joined her. 

I thought the animal couldn’t get more bizarre until the creature reared onto its hind legs and bellowed through a maw full of flesh-shredding fangs: “MURDERERS!”

If it wasn’t obvious that the poorly mismatched creature was a faerie, it was now. 

“MURDERERS!” The beast roared again, hackles raised. The entire cottage shuddered again, threatening to come down on our heads. “Shout that again why don’t you?” I muttered, survival instincts going out the window. “I don’t think you were loud enough the first time.”

“P-please,” father babbled from behind me, cowering behind his chair, failing to grow a spine and hobble up to Feyre and I. “Whatever we have done, we did so unknowingly, and—”   
“Shut it,” I snapped over my shoulder, prompting father to wither and shrink back behind his chair. It’d be fitting, he spent his life in that chair now, it was only right if he died in it too. 

“W-w-we didn’t kill anyone,” Nesta added, choking on her sobs, arms lifted over her head as if the little iron bracelet on her wrist could save her from a creature that could bite her head off in one go. Absently I wondered if this was what it took to subdue Nesta and if we made it out of here alive if the monster would consider doing it on a regular basis for me. 

“Get out,” Feyre snapped, her voice shaking as she brandished her knife. “Get out and begone.”  
The monster roared in response, and the entire cottage shook again. The plates and cups rattled on their shelves. He needed to take anger management classes. But his neck was exposed, and Feyre hurled her hunting knife. 

Fast—so fast I could barely see it—he slashed out with a monstrous paw, sending Feyre’s knife—the knife I’d given her—skittering away and out of reach as he snapped at Feyre with his teeth. 

A distraction was all I needed. Fast as lightning my left wrist flicked and the foot-long knife in it went soaring. Blood spurted out of the beast’s shoulder and splattered across the floor. A new kind of painting to add to the ones Feyre put up. Enraged, the monster turned and fixed his forest-green eyes on me. Shit. 

The world flew sideways as one of his massive paws slammed into me. I hit the floor halfway across the cabin and hard enough to see stars. I looked up and tried to shake off my brand-new headache. There were now three golden monsters, three fathers, and three Feyres. I staggered upwards, punch drunk, and tried to make my way over to where Feyre was huddled on the floor. 

The three Feyres had crawled backward and had stuck themselves to Father’s side. Nesta and Elain were still using Father and Feyre as a meat-shield while they tried praying to gods who had long since abandoned us. 

The creature ripped my knife out of his shoulder with a paw that was already stained red. I dimly registered that it was my blood on his paw and that I now had three long cuts running down my upper arm. Blood from the beast was fast staining the recently cleaned floors and I wondered drunkenly if he’d be willing to pay for the cleaning bill. 

“WHO KILLED HIM?” The creature stalked towards us, seemingly unbothered by the deep cut my knife had left. He wasn’t favoring his shoulder at all. He set a colossal paw, stained with my blood, on the table and it groaned threateningly beneath him. His claws thudded, one by one, as they embedded themselves into the wood. As if we needed more of our house to be broken, we couldn’t pay for any of it to be repaired. 

“If you could be more specific,” I managed to groan out, the words sounding warbled even to my own ears, “that’d be fantastic.” 

His incessant roaring to get his point across, a trait I’d discovered all men shared, and being flung like a ragdoll had combined to give me a pounding headache. My hands hadn’t been shaking before when he tore through our door, they were now. I shook myself off and continued my pathetic, staggering, journey towards Feyre.

Feyre took pity and walked towards me, steadying me. Her voice stayed clearer than mine and surprisingly even as she challenged: “Killed who?” 

Bless her for backing up my suicidal tendencies. 

The creature growled, low and vicious. His green eyes burned with wrath. It struck me, they weren’t animal eyes, not with their shape and coloring. That, more than anything, made me want to fall to the floor and plead for mercy like the rest of my family. 

“The wolf,” he said, and my heart stopped dead in my chest. Feyre. He was here for Feyre. 

Feyre looked like the world had been yanked out from under her. Elain was shrieking, encouraging my headache to worsen. 

Feyre somehow managed to keep her head up. “A wolf?”  
“A large wolf with a grey coat,” he snarled in response, effectively describing the vast majority of the wolf population in the area.   
“If it was mistakenly killed,” Feyre said calmly, “what payment could we offer in exchange?”  
This was a nightmare. How had the world gone to shit so quickly? Not five minutes ago we’d been eating a venison dinner, now we had a very large, very pissed off, faerie in our house demanding payment for a wolf. 

The beast let out a barking, bitter, laugh. He pushed the table off to the side and began to pace in a small circle, like the feral cats in Amre did. He’d probably take to being petted just as well as they did. The blood coming out of his shoulder had matted his fur, ruining his perfect golden coat. My scrambled brain conjured up a mental image of him brushing through it with a comb and I had to suppress a snort. 

“The payment you must offer is the one demanded by the Treaty between our realms.”  
“For a wolf?” Feyre retorted.   
“Yes,” I agreed, my speech still slurred, “seems a bit absurd to invoke the treaty because your pet wolf died.”

Father murmured our names in warning. I could see his point, taunting a large scary monster who could easily kill us all about his pet wolf (who I would have named Fluffy) was arguably stupid.   
The beast whirled towards us. “Who killed the wolf?” Feyre stared into his jade eyes—almost human eyes. “I did.” 

The monster stared at Feyre and blinked, noting her thinness and mistaking it for weakness. “Surely you lie to save them,” he growled as he glared over Feyre’s shoulder at Elain and Nesta.   
“We didn’t kill anything!” Elain wept. The part of me that cared about my headache dearly wanted to tell her to shut up but Nesta hushed her and dragged Elain behind her. My heart broke a little at the sight. 

“I killed it,” repeated Feyre. The monster stopped sniffing at our sisters and studied Feyre. “I sold its hide at the market today,” she confessed, her shoulders squared defiantly, “if I had known it was a faerie I wouldn’t have touched it.” Liar. 

The monster seemed to be thinking along the same lines as me. “Liar,” he snarled. “You knew. You would have been more tempted to slaughter it had you known it was one of my kind,” he accused her vindictively, as though he were part of the species that had been enslaved for centuries. As though Feyre wasn’t justified in killing a faerie that had violated the Treaty first.   
“Can you blame me?” Feyre asked.   
“Did he attack you? Were you provoked?” The beast asked.   
“We don’t need a reason,” I snapped, anger welling up with me along with the headache. “Your kind enslaved and killed us for sport for centuries. So I apologize if when we see your kind our first instinct isn’t to invite you to dinner. If I saw a large wolf in the woods I’d kill it without a second thought. If I knew it was a faerie I’d kill it and throw a party. Besides, didn’t your precious wolf violate the Treaty you suddenly seem to care about? Aren’t you violating the Treaty by being here to whine at us because you have one less plaything in your life?” 

The beast looked ready to kill me. 

“No,” Feyre interrupted, answering the monster’s question. “But she’s right. Considering what your kind still likes to do to us, even if I had known beyond a doubt, it was deserved.” 

Some part of me realized that death was coming for my entire family, and soon. Feyre and I would go down swinging. Father would plead and end up ripped to shreds. But Nesta would buy Elain time to run. Not father, who she resented, and not Feyre who Nesta hated for being too similar to her. Not me, for running away and building a life where I didn’t need any of them. But Elain, the flower-grower, the gentle heart…Nesta would go down swinging for her. 

While fear made my breathing difficult, Feyre seemed to be able to master hers and stare down the monster. “What is the payment the Treaty requires?”   
“A life for a life,” the monster growled, and my heart plummeted. “Any unprovoked attacks on faerie-kind by humans are to be paid only by a human life in exchange.” 

There was a niggling doubt in my mind. The statement didn’t ring true for some reason. But Faeries couldn't lie. Could they?

“I didn’t know,” Feyre whispered. “Didn’t know about that part of the Treaty.” I could feel my head pounding and heart constricting. Feyre. There was no way for us to outrun or escape this. No way for us to outrun or escape the monster in front of us.   
“Do it outside,” Feyre whispered, a small, desperate plea that left cracks in my heart. “Not…here.” I couldn’t breathe. Feyre. 

The faerie huffed a vicious laugh. “Willing to accept your fate so easily?” Rage coiled in my gut. Trust a faerie to demand a life debt and then mock the person willing to pay it. Trust a faerie to see my sister as just one more human plaything to torture and rip to shreds. “Prythian must claim your life in some way, for the life you took from it,” the monster continued. “So as a representative of the immortal realm, I can either gut you like a swine…” my stomach twisted, “or you can cross the Wall and live out the remained of your days in Prythian.” 

I blinked. Feyre blinked. “What?”  
“You can either die tonight,” the monster said slowly, as if he were talking to small and rather slow children, “or offer your life to Prythian by living in it forever, forsaking the human realm.”   
“Do it, Feyre,” Father pleaded behind us. “Go,”  
“Does it have to be her?” I asked quietly, “or can it be any life?”  
“Zoya, no,” came Feyre’s firm voice. I looked at her imploringly but stopped when I saw her eyes, lined with silver. I understood. Where Nesta would go down swinging for Elain, Feyre would go down swinging for me. I worked to make her life easier because I cared about her in a world that didn’t give a damn about an illiterate hunter with an artist’s soul. I treated her like my little sister, not a meal ticket, and in turn, she would do anything for me. 

“I have lands,” the monster said quietly—almost reluctantly. “I will grant you permission to live there.” 

“Why bother?” Feyre choked out. With those words and my realization, something inside me broke beyond repair. Feyre was planning to die alone in lands she didn’t know, with a monster who saw her as an insignificant plaything. A human to steal away from her family and add to his estate like a pretty little souvenir. 

“You murdered my friend,” the beast snarled. “Murdered him, skinned his corpse, sold it at the market, and then said he deserved it, and yet you have the nerve to question my generosity?” The monster glowered down at us disdainfully, as if to say: typical humans. “Do humans no longer understand mercy?” It growled, fangs inches away from Feyre’s throat. From my little sister. “Let me make this clear for you, girl: you can either come live at my home in Prythian-offer your life for the wolves in that way—or you can walk outside right now and be shredded to ribbons. Your choice.” 

“It’s amazing how condescending you manage to be about us humans while you manage to look like you were designed by a drunken ten-year-old.” The beast roared at me, spraying me with saliva and shaking the entire cottage. Torn between fear and disgust I opened my mouth again only to be cut off by Father, who’d hobbled forwards at some point. 

“Please, good sir—Feyre is my youngest. I beseech you to spare her. She is all…she is all…”   
But whatever he meant to say died in his throat as the monster roared again. A few of father’s wood carvings fell off their shelves. Father cringed and tried again, “Please—”   
“Silence,” snapped the monster.   
“I can get gold—” father tired again. I went slack. The only way he would get gold was begging since his carvings weren’t worth anything. Even if everything went well he’d only be able to get a few coppers.   
“How much is your daughter’s life worth to you? Do you think it equates to a sum?” The monster sneered. 

My twin was the color of snow and huddling behind Nesta. Nesta was the only one of us who the monster hadn’t managed to render completely brain dead, she was watching him like a hawk.   
Feyre dared a step towards the monster, drawing its attention. Dread settled in my stomach. She was giving in. 

Doom hung heavy in the air as the monster replied, “now.”   
Now.   
A small, broken noise sounded in the room It took me a moment to realize that I had been the one to make it.   
Even Elain looked out from behind Nesta in mute horror at the word. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t move.   
Not as Feyre turned to us and said the venison would last for two weeks.   
Not as Feyre fastened her cloak to leave.   
Not as she said the money from the pelts was in the dresser, and that it could last us for a time.   
Not as she instructed us to hunt for rabbits come spring, and to ask Isaac Hale how to make the snares.   
My world was crumbling down around me. My little sister. A sob built up in my throat and I didn’t bother to stop it. 

Feyre stuffed her hands into gloves I’d bought her a year ago when she’s been unwilling to spend money on something she deemed “unnecessary.” As if her keeping her fingers safe from the cold was unnecessary.

The monster who was taking away my little sister growled menacingly at us and prowled out into the night. Feyre made to follow him, but she paused. Before she could react, I’d flung myself at her, not aware of my actions until I’d trapped her in a bone-crushing hug. Feyre was shaking, from fear, the cold, or her own quiet sobs I didn’t know. I hated the monster all the more for it. 

“I love you,” I managed to choke out through the tears that were freely falling down my face. Feyre whispered a strangled, “I love you,” as well and seemed to clamp her arms around me even tighter.

Neither of our sisters moved towards Feyre. Neither of them said anything. They probably wouldn’t be able to do anything for quite a while. But their cowardice to move while the monster was near didn’t bother me, not as Feyre hugged me back and shook like a leaf in my stick-thin arms. Feyre glanced over my shoulder to look at Nesta. 

“Whatever you do,” she said quietly, “don’t marry Tomas Mandray. His father beats his wife, and none of his sons do anything to stop it.” Nesta’s eyes widened. “Bruises are harder to conceal that poverty.” 

Feyre let go of me as Father struggled towards us. A sorry, broken, man. “Feyre.” he said, reaching out with trembling fingers to grasp her hands. His eyes were clear for once. “You were always too good for here, Feyre. Too good for us, too good for everyone.” For once, I agreed with him wholeheartedly. He gave her hands a squeeze. “If you ever escape, ever convince them that you’ve paid the debt, don’t return.”   
Feyre’s jaw dropped.   
“Feyre,” father stumbled over her name. “You go somewhere new—and you make a name for yourself.” 

Feyre shrugged off his grip and pulled me into a brief hug, and then she left. Turning on her heel and walking out into the night through the ruined door, she didn’t hesitate. Her back was ramrod straight, something our old tutors would have been proud of. I could hear the snow crunching under her feet as she followed the monster into the night-shrouded woods. Away from her family. Away from me. 

My knees screamed in protest as I hit the floor and let myself cry for the first time in years.   
Tears were still streaming down my face when my father and sisters finally moved, salvaging what they could of the cottage. I ignored them and stared out the shattered door into the unyielding night. 

Once I had settled down I felt a hand on my shoulder. Nesta. Not Elain, not my twin. But my older sister. 

“I’ll kill it,” I swore flatly, staring out to where Feyre had disappeared. “I’ll kill it with my bare hands and enjoy doing it.” Nesta only squeezed my shoulder and walked away.


	6. Chapter Six

I woke up on the floor to the colorless winter sunlight beaming in through the window. My headache from the previous night had worsened somehow, probably from my crying. The memories from last night were fuzzy, the details blurred together. Whenever I thought of the golden monster my brain tried supplementing me with a picture of a wealthy aunt, leading Feyre off into her carriage. I batted the image away. It was bullshit. What was it doing in my head?

A chill spider-walked down my spine. Magic. That monster had taken away Feyre and then tried to magic me into forgetting. Rage boiled up in me, the kind of unpredictable feeling that meant nothing around me was safe. 

Feyre was gone. A hollow feeling filled up my chest. My little sister was gone. 

Unsticking my face from the wooden floor I looked around the cottage wondering how the pretty memory of a wealthy aunt would explain the damage done to the house. Except…there wasn’t any damage. 

There were no claw marks on the table, which had been returned to its original position in the middle of the room. The monster’s blood was no longer splattered across the floor like a gruesome finger painting. The door to the cottage was in one piece, not a scratch on it. Father’s wooden figurines were back on their shelves. Even the three perfect scratches on my arm were healed, with no scar to ever suggest that they’d been there. My shirt had even repaired itself, hiding the tattoo I wasn’t sure my sisters knew I had. 

Magic was creepy.

I heard a door behind me creak as it opened. “Lovely morning isn’t it?” Chirped Elain. I glanced back around to look at her. She was fresh as a daisy, hair was done up in a braid and eyes shining. She was smiling. Smiling. 

Feyre was gone and my twin was smiling like she hadn’t a care in the world. The monster’s magic had worked on her. Rage bubbled up again. The monster had come into my home and taken away my little sister, but that wasn’t enough for him. Oh no. No, that monster had to reach into our minds and invent an aunt I wasn’t even sure existed to placate us. He effectively stopped my family from mourning my little sister. 

I wanted to feel his pulse flutter out under my hands before. Now I wanted his head, to stuff and stick over my fireplace when I bought a better apartment. I’d throw darts at it when I needed target practice. I’d send the rest of his body to his family if he had one. He would pay for interfering with my family. 

“Did you—did you sleep on the floor?” Elain asked incredulously. “Are you alright?”

“Perfect,” I groaned, hauling myself upwards, joints and muscles screaming in protest. “Yes, I did sleep on the floor, wanted a change of scenery.” Elain looked baffled, but she didn’t press the matter. She’d gotten used to my bizarre mannerisms years ago when I’d showed up to a music lesson pockets brimming with frog eggs. Not one of my better moments but it had certainly desensitized her. 

I scrutinized her, not sure how to approach the topic of our little sister. It was a strange feeling, not knowing how to breach the topic of someone you both loved who’d been hauled out of your house in the middle of the night by a large kitty-cat faerie monster with antlers to repay a blood debt.

“Have you been crying?” Elain asked, disbelief lacing her voice, and interrupting my thoughts. 

“No,” I denied a little too quickly. Elain again, bless her, didn’t press. If I wasn’t willing to talk she wouldn’t make me. I felt a flash of relief that Anika wasn’t here, she would have given me her “look” and I would have started babbling like a baby. Sometimes having someone who was wedged firmly under my monstrously thick armor could be a drawback to my badassery. 

I cleared my throat and changed the subject. “Uhm. Where’s Feyre?” Subtle. I mentally smacked myself. Elain looked at me in disbelief, her eyes wide. “You don’t remember?”

I winced. “Bits and pieces.” Not necessarily a lie. I didn’t like lying to Elain but that didn’t mean it didn’t happen. Elain was still staring at me, her jaw hanging open in disbelief. “Feyre went away with Aunt Ripleigh.”

“Ahhh,” I nodded, faking recollection, “and who is she again?” Elain looked completely dumbstruck at my complete idiocy. “She’s our mother’s sister,” Elain supplied, as though it should be obvious. I nodded again. I had no idea that Mother had a sister if this sister even existed. Maybe I should have paid more attention at all those fancy parties to all those relatives who stopped caring about us once we stopped having money. 

My heart constricted painfully as Elain happily wandered towards the kitchen and took out a slice of venison and chowed down on it. “Feyre would tell me off for this,” she said with a small smile, “but I’m hungry, so I’m eating.” I balked at her. 

“Feyre isn’t here anymore!” Elain blinked owlishly at me. 

“I know that.” 

“So you don’t have a way to get food! You need to save food!” I snapped, exasperated at her lack of forethought. Then again, Feyre seemed to be the only active brain in the family up here, without her it became painfully obvious that my twin had her head in the clouds. 

Elain just blinked at me and stared. “You’ll get us food,” she said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Pardon me?”

“You’ll get us food. Go hunting like Feyre used to.” My jaws flapped open and shut. I was shocked. I couldn’t hunt, and it would take me a long time to learn, and I told Elain so. “I’m not going to stay here either, I need to go back to my job to make money to send to you lot.” A small furrow appeared between Elain’s brows and she chewed the venison, seemingly only just grasping the situation. She wasn’t stupid, it just didn’t occur to her that I wouldn’t realign my life to make hers easier. 

“But then how will we eat?” 

“You and Nesta will need to learn to trap rabbits. Isaac Hale can teach you how to do it, he’ll do it for you because you’re related to Feyre,” I said, easily supplying the solution. “Until then you need to eat sparingly and spend the money from the pelts sparingly. I have some money that I can give you too,” I tacked on, recalling the money I’d gotten off the mercenary behind the butcher’s shop. 

Elain looked flabbergasted at the idea of working. But before she could ask more questions with stupidly obvious answers to anyone who wasn’t in denial about their financial situation the door creaked open again. Nesta. 

I looked over at her and received a shock at what I saw. I’d half expected her to look like she did every day: impeccable hair and poise. But her hair was sloppily done, and her eyes were wary. My eyes narrowed at her. She knew something, or at least she half-remembered something. Was it possible—was it possible that Nesta, with her unyielding mind made of fire and brimstone, could not be persuaded that Feyre had hopped into a carriage and rode off into the sunset? 

My breathing quickened. My life would be easier if I had someone who was aware of what was happening. Someone who would at least give me a send-off when I said I was heading south for work but instead headed north towards the Wall. I’d get Feyre back, and if she were dead I’d bring the golden monster’s head home as a trophy. 

Without stopping to gauge Elain’s reaction, I walked towards Nesta, gripped her wrist in an iron vice, and dragged her out our newly repaired door into the snow. I avoided looking at the spot where Feyre had followed the monster. I didn’t want to look at that path, but I’d eventually follow it. 

Before she could curse me out for hauling her out here with no cloak I grabbed her head and forced her to look at me. Her stormy eyes were burning, furious with my actions but also questioning.  
“Do you remember?” I asked, a simple question that could be interpreted a thousand different ways. If she didn’t I could write it off as my usual madness. But I wouldn’t have to, I realized, as Nesta slowly nodded her head. Up close I could see that her eyes were rimmed with red. She’d cried. Or had at least gotten as close to it as she was physically capable. I rattled out a sigh of relief. 

“Does Father remember what happened?” I asked frantically, needing to feel out my family. Needing to know whose minds I should add to the list of things that monster had wronged.   
“No.” A simple, flat, answer. I nodded hollowly. Nesta was looking down her nose at me the way she usually did. Some things never changed. “What do you remember?” Nesta questioned, as if bracing herself for the answer. 

“Everything,” I whispered, looking up at my older sister. “I remember everything.” What I wanted at that moment I have no idea. A part of me wanted Nesta to comfort me the way she had when I was very young when I hurt myself by accident, before I deviated wildly from what she considered “acceptable.” A part of me wanted her to take up arms with me and run north to the Wall and splatter the monster on whatever hellhole he crawled out of. No part of me wanted her to turn her back on me and walk back into the hut, which was exactly what she did. 

I fought the sob building in my throat as Nesta slammed the door after herself. I wanted some support in the incredibly stupid thing I was about to do. I wanted someone to care alongside me. I wanted my little sister back with her sharp wit and the way she explained different colors to me. I wanted Ankia to give me a hug and tell me that I could persevere, the same way she did whenever I came back from a particularly taxing fight, covered in my own blood. I wanted Darius to grin at me with all his cocky swagger and march up to the Wall with me and help me find my sister. 

I wanted all these things. But mostly I just wanted Nesta not to turn her back on me and leave me all alone. 

I looked at the spot where Feyre disappeared. Where the monster had led her off, demanding her life in return for his worthless little wolf. I steeled myself and let my body take over. 

It only took me a matter of minutes to sling my travel sack over my shoulder after repacking all of my things. Nesta and Elain were watching me curiously. Elain had started on another slice of venison and Nesta had one in her hand. It was an effort not to hate them at the moment. I gathered my knives, and the ones I’d acquired from the mercenary, sliding them into various hidden sheaths in my clothing. I pocketed the money from the mercenary’s purse and left. Nesta and Elain watched me go, neither one said anything. Neither one protested. I was one less body in the house to share with. 

My short but brisk strides carried me into the marketplace. I found a man selling hard cheeses and bread, of which I bought a fair amount. I had limited options for food that would keep me full and that would keep on the journey. Next, I headed for the post office. 

It was a small, ramshackle, building. Not much need for maintenance considering that not much mail circulated up here. Its only real patrons were the wealthy, who only used it to communicate with people the next house over. The practice always baffled me, it wasn’t as though money made someone incapable of walking a mile to talk to someone instead of spending money on a letter. I walked in through the dingy door and bought the cheapest paper they had and borrowed a pencil from the half-asleep man behind the desk. I borrowed his desk next to write my letter. 

 

 

Anika, 

I need to make this brief because I don’t have much money to spend on paper. I’m doing something stupid, its one of those rescue missions that should only be attempted by knights in fairytales. I’ll tell you about it when I get home, I just don’t want you to worry too much about me if I’m a few days late. I do now realize though after writing this out that I probably should have just lied and said ‘heavy snow’ to keep you from worrying, but I’d rather be honest. 

Please go over to The Palace if you have the time during one of my shifts. Darius will be there, and you can tell him it will take me a few more days and for him to inform Carson (Adrassy’s brain). There will be a man on duty with him who wears an eyepatch, let him know too. He’ll be covering my shifts. 

There have been some issues with my family, which feed into the whole mission-thing. I’m just completely alone up here, they’re all completely deluded or unhelpful. Nesta (the nasty older one) could help me but inside she’s decided to continue being self-serving and leave me to my plight. It’s like she doesn’t care about anyone who isn’t herself or Elain. 

I want to let you know that I’m missing you and that I wish you were up here (although I honestly wouldn’t wish my family on anyone sometimes). I love you very much and I’m pining horribly for your company, it’s all very pathetic. Now that I’ve written this I realize how horrifically cheesy it is, so I’m going to find something to punch so I can feel badass again.   
Also, in the event that money should be running low, I have a small stash under my bed in a tin box. It should be enough to last for about two weeks.

Love,   
Your favorite person in the whole world 

 

I signed the letter with a flourish. My writing towards the end was cramped and the pencil had smudged in a few places (the curse of being left-handed) but it was still legible. I grabbed an envelope and sealed it. I gave it to the man and paid for expedited shipping, so it would reach Anika in three days and I left.   
I walked back towards the cabin and paused in the field beside it, that separated it from the forest. I walked into the dark tangled branches that had swallowed up my litter sister and followed the path. 

The monster hadn’t left prints. Magic again. But it was easy to guess where he’d gone. I followed the wider paths which headed directly north. The monster wouldn’t have wasted any time in getting back to his side of the Wall. 

I’d only been crunching through the snow for a few minutes when I heard fast footsteps and ragged breathing following me. One of my blades leaped into my hand, eager to be used. But it wasn’t a mercenary or a poacher or some other thing that would hurt me. 

Nesta came into view, her cheeks flushed with exertion and cold. 

“Where—” she panted, “where are you going?” What an idiot, what sort of stupid question was that?

“Oh, I don’t know sister dear,” I bit out, glaring at her hatefully, “maybe when my little sister gets kidnapped I’m not inclined to sit on my hands and do nothing.” 

Nesta’s upper lip curled into an all too familiar sneer. “You don’t stand a chance against that thing. It’s a suicide mission.” 

“Thank you, for your kind and encouraging words. When my little sister is kidnapped by something that can eat her, I too, have the instinct to hide in my cottage and do nothing because I’m a fucking coward.” I turned on my heel and continued stomping away, or I tried to. Nesta caught my arm and wheeled me around. Rage bubbled up, white hot in my throat. 

“What about the rest of us?” Nesta roared directly into my face. “What will we do without you?” 

“Oh, I don’t know,” I fumed, “I imagine that you’ll have to learn to get off your lazy, entitled, asses and work for once in your spoiled lives.” All my irritation at her and Elain’s refusal to work and constant use of Feyre as their own personal workforce boiled up in me “For once in your life Nesta you should hear this: IT’S NOT ABOUT YOU. My life does not revolve around you. Feyre’s life should not have had to revolve around you. The world doesn’t revolve around you.”

Nesta opened her mouth to speak but I cut her off with a feral snarl. “For once, Nesta, stop thinking about yourself or Elain! Stop looking down on Feyre because she wasn’t afforded the same luxuries as us! There are other people in this family who care about you, you need to learn to give back because all you’ve ever done is take from us.” I paused to catch my breath, and to my alarm, there were tears in my eyes. “You’re just horrible to us sometimes,” I whispered, the fire in my chest dimming. “You’re just absolutely horrible to us, and it really hurts.” 

With that, I left Nesta standing knee-deep in snow. Something like shame had flickered across her face briefly, but it wasn’t enough. It was gone as soon as it came. Her back straightened and I heard the snow crunching as she trudged away. Alone. 

I was alone. The same way I’d been alone when Elain had decided that I wasn’t her best friend anymore and she’d run off with Nesta, she didn’t even talk to me at dinner afterwards. I wasn’t perfect enough for her or Nesta, or Mother. I was alone the same way I’d been alone until Feyre showed up in my life, a little bright spot of color in a bleak world where no one really liked me. I’d been so alone until Feyre had decided to be my friend as well as my sister, and she’d been the first person to tell me that I wasn’t an ugly little thing, that I didn’t look like a glass of turned milk. Feyre made me feel like I mattered even though I climbed trees and recited mathematical theories for fun when I was younger. Feyre was the one person who made me feel like I mattered before I’d met Darius and Rotty and, most importantly, Anika. They all meant the world to me, but if I ever had to choose between them and Feyre, Feyre would win every time. She was my little sister. She was my first friend. 

Determination settled into the pit of my stomach like a stone. I’d get Feyre home. I’d kill that monster for taking her. For scaring her and making her shake in my arms.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a short one, and kind of a filler. Please give me feedback, like I said, this is my first time writing anything so any opinions are welcome.

There were a lot of things I could calculate before I charged off into the woods on a crusade. I knew how many layers of clothing I needed to survive in the cold. I knew how much food it would take me to get to The Wall, stay there for a while, and head back. I didn’t calculate how boring it would be. 

There were only so many times I could look at different bare trees and find them interesting. Or find the snow pretty. The compass that sat in the bottom of my travel sack at all times was finally being put to use. I used the compass and the sun to find North during the day. At night I used Polaris, the last star in the handle of a constellation I couldn’t remember the name of, but it looked vaguely like a spoon. 

The entire journey was like some useless training mission that they sent soldiers on when they misbehaved. Worse than the boredom was the slow progress. While I’d eventually shot upwards in height when I was fifteen, I was still shorter than the average woman. Not being able to reach the top shelf of anything was downright depressing. Anika had bought a footstool a while back as a joke. It only took me a few hours to crack and use it. The snow was up to my mid-thigh, and while it was a good strengthening exercise, I couldn’t really afford to lose more weight. 

My mind unwittingly flashed back to Nesta’s words more times than I cared to count.   
“You don’t stand a chance against that thing. It’s a suicide mission.”

She was right, and I knew it. I wasn’t a complete idiot. I was charging to Feyre’s rescue the same way I’d charged to Father’s when those thugs shattered his knee. All I’d be getting for my efforts would be a significant number of wounds, or worse. But rational thought hadn’t stopped me before, and it wouldn’t now. Besides, this was Feyre. She deserved someone to try and help her. She would undoubtedly be able to handle herself, she was made of, as Anika said, hard and bony stuff. Feyre was my little sister and my friend, but she had a will and spine of wrought iron. If I failed, she’d persevere and find a way to make that monster her bitch. 

I’d already braved two nights in the forest, and tonight would be my third. I’d probably hit The Wall at some point tomorrow. 

Twilight fell, and the forest became denser. Every sound at night was something creeping out of the shadows to rip me into bloody ribbons. I hated the dark out here. In Amre it let me prowl the streets, but out here I wasn’t the one doing the prowling. In the growing dark the forest seemed to be breathing and the large boulders that were bearded with moss seemed to watch me. 

The sun set without consequence and I decided to stop. While I would have pushed onwards on previous nights, I wasn’t willing to risk it this close to The Wall. I set up camp, ensuring I didn’t hum to myself the way I was prone to when I worked. I laid out my bedroll and curled up on it, ripping up a loaf of bread and stuffing it down my throat madly. 

I wouldn’t have a fire, it was essentially a beacon announcing my exact location. I wasn’t inclined to find out what manner of thing would crawl towards a fire. I let two of my knives slide into my palms. They were beautiful. All ripply steel and no rust with worn leather-bound hilts. They gave me some modicum of comfort as the forest loomed up around me, threatening to swallow me up. The tangles of branches and moss bore an uncanny resemblance to reaching claws. A reassuring thought. The forest was full of the soft sounds of feathery wings and the groaning of trees. 

Nothing seemed out of order. Nature was ticking by peacefully, but the chill that ran down my back whenever I was in the wild kept running down my back. The air felt wrong. 

I fell asleep to the comforting weight of my knives resting in my hands. 

The next morning dawned bright. The dappled light filtered down through the branches that had looked so much like claws the previous night. My muscles screaming in protest as I forced them to move. I chewed on a chunk of hard cheese as I rolled up my bedroll and oriented myself with North. 

As I walked, trudging through snow that had thankfully gotten shallower, my muscles cramped and twitched. I shoved a wad of sourleaf into my mouth, grimacing at the repulsive taste. But it did its job. By the time the sun was at its zenith, I could feel my muscles twitching but there was no more pain. The sourleaf made my spit look like blood and stained my teeth pink, but I was still walking, so I wouldn’t be complaining. 

I wouldn’t last five seconds like this. My body was sore, it felt like I’d gone fifteen rounds in a ring with a talented opponent. I could barely move without my muscles cramping uncomfortably. I wouldn’t be able to raise a dagger before the monster tore me into bloody ribbons. Not that this logic would stop me. 

People claimed pigs couldn’t fly but all it had taken was me, Darius, too much alcohol, a borrowed pig, a borrowed human canon (borrowed from a visiting circus), and a child’s life vest for the animal. A pig had flown that night over Amre’s harbor, and only come out of it slightly traumatized. If pigs could fly, I could bring down the monster. 

It was midday when I slammed into an invisible barrier. My first interaction with The Wall was it knocking me on my ass. It was a good start. 

Hauling myself out of the snow drift where The Wall had deposited me I pressed my hand against the structure. It was invisible and impenetrable. It was like the air had simply solidified into a perfectly smooth surface. I could see snowy woods on the other side, but who knew if those were real. 

Leaning the entirety of my, frankly insignificant, weight against The Wall did nothing. Not that I really expected it to. Some small, mortal, part of me found myself hoping that The Wall was impenetrable. If I, an insignificant mortal, could get through, any manner of horrific monster could come swarming down from the faerie lands. Prythian, the monster called them. My blood ran cold at the thought. Those monsters could kill us without a second and we’d be helpless. The monster had pulled a foot-long knife from his shoulder with no problem. The only hope us mortals had was ash, and most ash trees had been wiped from the face of the earth by faeries in The War. 

Some part of me despaired as I was faced the invisible entity keeping us mortals safe as I ran my hand along it, testing for weakness. The Wall had been raised by an unfathomable power and magic, and I was just a skinny little pit fighter with no common sense. I’d try anyway. 

I began to walk east, pressing my hand firmly against The Wall as I went, feeling for any weakness. The fire and brimstone determination that Nesta and I shared was flaring up again. Adrassy had once dubbed it my anything-you-can-do-I-can-do-better complex. Or, as Anika like to call it, my pigheadedness. She said the sweetest things. 

The Wall held strong and firm under my sweaty palm. Some small, wicked, part of me found it delightful that magic like this existed. Some larger and more sensible part of me was scared shitless. Getting to the other side of The Wall was one of the most truly stupid things I’d ever gotten it into my head that I could do. 

I’d find a chink in The Wall’s impenetrable armor if it was the last thing I did, and with how cold it was, it probably would be the last thing I did.


	8. Chapter Eight (Feyre POV)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is done from Feyre's POV.

I returned to my room, and—awake with nothing else to do—began monitoring the garden beyond for any signs of Tamlin’s return. He didn’t come back. I was still shaken by the revelation that Tamlin was strong enough to hunt down the Bogge. I’d known he was a warrior of sorts, but this was beyond anything I had expected. 

I sharpened the knife I’d hidden away on a bit of stone I’d taken from the garden. It wasn’t as good as my old hunting knife. It wouldn’t be nearly as good as any one of Zoya’s knives. An hour passed—and still, Tamlin didn’t return. 

Ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous to watch for his return, to see if he could indeed survive against the Bogge. I turned from the window, about to drag myself into bed. 

But something moved out in the garden. 

I lunged for the curtains beside the window, not wanted to be caught waiting for him, and peered out. 

Not Tamlin—but someone lurked by the hedges, facing the house. Looking toward me.  
Female, holding herself ramrod straight in a constant fighter’s stance, and—  
The breath went out of me as the faerie strode forwards, owning the ground beneath her feet—just two steps closer into the light leaking from the house.  
Not a faerie, but a woman.  
Zoya. 

I didn’t give myself a chance to panic, to doubt, to do anything but wish I had stolen some food from my breakfast table as I layered on tunic after tunic and bundled myself in a cloak, stuffing the knife I’d stolen into my boot. Not that I’d need it. Zoya was practically a walking, talking, arsenal. 

Zoya. My older sister had come to take me—to save me. Whatever benefits Tamlin had given her upon my departure didn’t matter to her at all. Zoya probably already had an escape route planned, or she’d make one up as we went along. She’d undoubtedly drag me off to the winding streets of Amre she so often talked of, she’d definitely introduce me to all the characters there she’d told me of. 

My elder sister—infallible in my eyes and a fighter had come. 

A quick survey of the ground beneath my window revealed no one outside—and the silent house told me no one else had seen my sister. She was waiting by the hedge, beckoning me with that wicked grin I hadn’t seen her wear in years. It was the same way she had beckoned me when she stole me away from our tutors to spend sweet summer days curled up in her favorite maple tree. At least Tamlin had not returned, though I had no doubt she’d finish the job she started in our cottage with the knife in his shoulder. Common sense wasn’t something she usually operated on. 

With a final glance at my room, listening for anyone approaching from the hall, I grasped the nearby trellis of wisteria and eased down the building. 

I winced at the crunch of gravel beneath my boots, but Zoya was already striding confidently towards the outer gates. How had she even gotten here? She was hardly wearing enough clothing for the winter that would await us once we crossed The Wall. But I’d layered on so much that I could spare her some items if need be. 

Keeping my movements light and silent, carefully avoiding the light of the moon, I hurried after my sister. She was moving like she owned the place more than Tamlin did, towards the darkened hedges and the gate beyond. 

Only a few hall candles were burning inside the house. I didn’t dare breathe too loudly—didn’t dare call for my sister as she loped towards the gate. If we left now we could be halfway home by the time they realized I was gone. Then we’d flee—flee Tamlin, flee the blight that could soon invade our lands. 

My sister reached the gates. They were already open, the dark forest beyond beckoning. The forest behind her was a testament to her will to find me, she hated the wild, always claiming she felt more at home cobblestones beneath her feet and buildings rising up around her instead of trees. She turned towards me, her striking near colorless brown eyes striking me all over again, I’d have to paint them one day. She beckoned frantically. Every inch of her urging me to hurry. 

My heart was a raging beat in my chest, in my throat. Only a few feet now—to her, to freedom, to a new life—  
A massive hand wrapped around my arm. “Going somewhere?”  
Shit, shit, shit. 

Tamlin’s claws poked through layers of my clothing as I looked up at him in unabashed terror.  
I didn’t dare move, not as his lips thinned and the muscles in his jaw quivered. Not as he opened his mouth and I glimpsed fangs—long, throat-tearing fangs shining in the moonlight. 

He was going to kill me—kill me right there and then kill my sister. No more loopholes, no more flattery, no more mercy. He didn’t care anymore. I was as good as dead. 

“Please,” I breathed. “My sister—” 

“You sister?” He lifted his stare to the gates behind me, and his growl rumbled through me as he bared his teeth. “Why don’t you look again?” He released me. 

I staggered back a step, whirling, sucking in a breath to tell my sister to run, but—  
She wasn’t there. Only a pale bow and a quiver of mountain ash arrows remained. They hadn’t been there moments before. 

The arrows and quiver rippled as if they were nothing but water—and then the bow and quiver became a large pack, laden with supplies. Another ripple—and there were my other sisters, huddled together, weeping, so unlike Zoya in her swagger and easy confidence. 

My knees buckled. “What is…” I didn’t finish the question. Zoya now stood there, proud and bony and beckoning. A flawless rendering. 

“Weren’t you warned to keep your wits about you?” Tamlin snapped. “That your human senses would betray you?” He stepped beyond me and let out a snarl so vicious that whatever the thing was by the gates shimmered with light and darted out as fast as lightning streaking through the dark.

“Fool,” he said to me, turning. “If you’re ever going to run away, at least do it in the daytime.” He stared me down, and the fangs slowly retracted. The claws remained. “There are worse things than the Bogge prowling these woods at night. That thing at the gates isn’t one of them—and it still would have taken a good, long while devouring you.”

Somehow, my mouth began working again. And of all the things to say, I blurted, “Can you blame me? My older sister appears beneath my window, and you think I’m not going to run for her? Did you think I’d gladly stay here forever, even if you’d taken care of my family, all for some Treaty that had nothing to do with me and allows your kind to slaughter humans as you see fit?” 

He flexed his fingers as if trying to get the claws back in, but they remained out, ready to slice through flesh and bone. “What do you want Feyre?”  
“I want to go home!”  
“Home to what, exactly? You’d prefer your miserable human existence to this?”  
“Home to my sister. I also made a promise,” I said, my breathing ragged. “To my mother, when she died. That I’d look after my family. That I’d take care of them. All I have done, every single day, every hour, has been for that vow. And just because I was hunting to save my family, to put food in their bellies, I’m now forced to break it.” 

He stalked toward the house, and I gave him a wide berth before falling into step behind him. His claws slowly, slowly retracted. He didn’t look at me as he said, “You are not breaking your vow—you are fulfilling it, and then some, by staying here. Your family is better cared for now than they were when you were there.”

Those chipped, miscolored paintings inside the cottage flashed in my vision. Perhaps they would forget who had even painted them in the first place. Insignificant—that’s what all those years I’d given them would be, as insignificant as I was to these High Fae. And that dream I’d had, of one day living with my father, with enough food and money and paint … it had been my dream—no one else’s. 

No, said a firm voice in my head, Zoya would never have forgotten you. Some part of that rang true, she’d freely admitted that without me, she would have abandoned our family years ago. She loved those miscolored paintings and beamed when she’d seen the maple leaves I’d painted on her drawer. I wasn’t insignificant. Not to her. That dream of living with my father and with enough time and money to paint was something Zoya would fight tooth and nail to help me achieve. It wasn’t what she wanted with her life, but she would sacrifice her own dreams for me to be able to live out mine. She wasn’t bound by a promise to Mother, but she’d helped me fulfill my promise. 

Even if I’d been a fool—a stupid, human, fool—to believe that Zoya would even be able to make it across The Wall. Some part of me knew that she wouldn’t forget about me or give up on me, and that she would try to reach me. In turn I wouldn’t give up on her, or the rest of my family.


	9. Chapter Nine

The Wall was solid for hours in each direction. There was no part that gave to pressure. No chink in the armor to exploit. Which begged the question: How had the monster gotten through? It was possible that magic was needed to get through, but that wouldn’t explain why more faeries didn’t swarm down into the mortal lands. Humans were such easy prey. 

It was the universe’s version of a cruel joke. The monsters could get to us and take what was ours, but we had no way to reclaim it. The scales were forever tipped in the monster’s favor. 

Some small wicked part of me found it delightful that magic like this existed. Some larger and more sensible part of me found it terrifying. 

Nights came and went. I relied on The Wall to guide me, my palm was forever pressed up against it. Testing. Looking for some weakness to exploit. There must have been a flaw somewhere for the monsters to exploit. I’d heard rumors of martax and other demons crawling through northern towns for years. The wolf made it to this side of The Wall. The monster made it to this side of The Wall. What deficiency was The Wall hiding? Why did it seem like only monsters could take advantage?

A thousand different theories supplied themselves as I walked, palm pressed firmly to the invisible barrier. Each theory seemed as unlikely as the last, but there was a reoccurring theme: human inadequacy. It was completely possible that humans didn’t possess the natural tools like magic and heightened senses that were necessary to find flaws in magic as old and powerful as The Wall. 

Sleep evaded me when I lay down to rest, whether at night or during the day. The feel of the forest was too unsettling, and the thought of a monster emerging from behind The Wall kept my hair standing on end. I hated everything about this place. But I hated that I was here alone more. 

The trees around me loomed upwards, all older than I would ever be. Their age showed in their flecked and worn bark, and the knotted trunks that supported them. At night their prominent roots, thick as a python, would trip me constantly. The Wall held me up. 

Snow covered and hid the ground, it was up to my knees most of the time, soaking through my britches and boots, worsening the cold. The cold worked its way down to the bone. My teeth chattered nonstop, filling up the cold and empty forest with the jarring noise. My fingers had long since gone completely numb. I wasn’t sure I would have been able to feel a chink in The Wall even if there was one. 

It was my third day at The Wall when I heard voices. They could have been from humans or faeries, the monster had proven himself capable of speech. I shook my paranoia off. It was more likely humans, a group of Children of the Blessed or something of that ilk. I stalked after the voices as they filtered through the trees. 

There were two voices, both female. One of the voices was deep and course, where the other had a distinct aristocratic ring to it with flawless pronunciation. 

I flattened myself to the snow and prowled in closer, praying that the noise of my footsteps wouldn’t draw attention to me. Praying that they wouldn’t hear me over the sound of their own chatter. Praying that they were friendly. It’d be ironic that I had come up this way to slay a monster, only to be killed by humans. 

When the dark shapes came into view I paused to observe them. They were both dressed in darker colors, making them stick out brilliantly against the snow. Their backs were turned towards me. 

The one with the coarse voice was dressed in boiled leathers and a thick set of tunic and pants. There were knives strapped to any available space on her, all within easy reach. Across her back as a two-handed broadsword. I wouldn’t have been able to lift the thing, but her broad shoulders suggested that she had no issues wielding it. 

The one with the aristocratic voice was in clothes of fine make. They were thick and new and fit like a glove. There was rich embroidery on their edges and their deep color practically screamed expensive. This woman had slender shoulders, she wasn’t suited to work and clearly hadn’t done any heavy lifting in her life. Her golden-brown hair was tucked up into a flawless braided coil. The exact same hairstyle that—

Nesta. 

That woman in all her embroidered finery was Nesta. That aristocratic voice that I’d grown up with hadn’t seemed like my sister, because, until a heartbeat ago, I never would have assumed that she would have gone anywhere near the forest. Much less The Wall. 

My body was racing towards the unlikely pair of women before my head could process my discovery. I plowed through the snow, throwing up white in every direction, as my arms pinwheeled madly to maintain my balance. A big stupid grin cracked my face in two. 

Nesta was here. 

The mercenary wheeled, trained senses picking up on my ungraceful approach. Her broadsword had found its way into one of her hands, and a menacing knife had found the other. I couldn’t have cared less. My bounding towards my sister and sharp weapons that could open me from navel to neck didn’t slow. '

I recognized the mercenary from the marketplace. She’d bought the pelts from Feyre. I wouldn’t have recalled her at all, had it not been for the expanse of black veins that was starting to creep its way up her neck. Nesta still hadn’t turned around. 

“Hello!” I screeched. I’d meant it to sound casual, but in my excitement, I sounded akin to a cat being sat on.  
Nesta wheeled around, shock playing across her face as she saw me. Probably surprised I’d survived this long in the wild. I was too. We didn’t give Feyre nearly enough credit for surviving this year in and year out. 

Nesta offered me a brief look of relief, but it was gone in a flash. I could have blinked and missed it. The mercenary had decided that I wasn’t a threat and she’d stowed her weapons, her black eyes glinting in amusement as I struggled towards them. 

“Nice clothes,” I panted, gesturing to Nesta’s finery. “Where did you get them?” Nesta instantly drew herself up, her proud posture making me seem even smaller. “I didn’t steal them if that’s what you’re implying.” My eyebrows shot up. 

“I wasn’t implying it before, but I am now.” There was an uncomfortable beat of silence as Nesta’s lips curled into a sneer. “Where did you get them?” I repeated. 

“Father’s ships have been found. We have our fortune again.” There was a tint of relief in Nesta’s voice. I understood it all too well. There was some tension in my shoulders that had stayed there for years, and I could breathe a little easier now that we had money. Someone who has never experienced poverty will never understand how truly crushing it is to their spirit and dreams. 

But it wasn’t right. Those ships had been sunk, dragged down to the bottom of the ocean by a violent storm and a tricky trade route. Ice ran down my back. Magic. 

I jerked my chin at the mercenary. “What does she know?” Nesta contemplated me, head quirked to the side in silent curiosity. “Everything,” was her one-word response. 

“Those ships were at the bottom of the ocean, Nesta,” I began, unsure of how to finish. “That isn’t Father’s money.” Nesta glared at me incredulously. 

“Then how do you explain it?” She hissed, her teeth gritted. The mercenary was watching, eyes bright with curiosity. I understood, nothing was better than watching someone who regularly shouted at you shout at someone else, and if this mercenary had dealt with Nesta in the woods, she’d been shouted at. 

“It’s impossible for Father’s ships to have turned up,” I stated. “For one, a crew wouldn’t survive years at sea. Two, it’s far more likely that the ship crew stole the money rather than sit in a port with it for a few years. They were loyal to Father, but not that loyal.” Nesta’s face switched from derisive to contemplative as I shamelessly appealed to her dislike for the lower class. Despite being lower class for years, she was still inclined to think the worst of the lower class or hired hands. “Three,” I said, plunging ahead and encouraged by her silence, “those ships took what is quite possibly the most dangerous sea route in the world, during a storm. It’s not uncommon for ships to disappear altogether in that area. We were probably just another casualty in a long list of boats that went under that day.”

I watched the cogs in Nesta’s head turn, and she slowly nodded, agreeing with me. Nesta was smart, as much as I hated to admit it, and I saw the look of comprehension dawning on her face as she came to the same conclusion I had. 

“The monster?” She questioned, looking for confirmation. I nodded slowly. 

“The monster said he had lands. Lands mean money.” Nesta was shaking, whether from the cold or fury it was hard to tell. 

“He bought Feyre,” she snarled, hatred rippling freely across her features. 

“Right after he ridiculed Father for asking if he could give the monster money instead of Feyre.” My upper lip curled into an uncanny imitation of Nesta’s sneer. “It’s just another thing that monster will have to answer to should we ever get on the other side of the damn Wall.” 

The mercenary and Nesta perked up. “You’ve found The Wall?” Questioned the mercenary, her black eyes glinting as hey caught the light. 

“Follow me,” I turned, trudging northwards. Nesta and the mercenary flanked me, Nesta struggled to keep up. A lifetime of not engaging in anything physically taxing was catching up to her in thigh-deep snow. It was an effort to walk. 

I found The Wall the same way I had the first time: face-first. I bounced off it. My ass landed in a snow drift and the mercenary helped me up. Nesta had her hands pressed firmly against The Wall, testing it. Looking for weakness the same way I had. 

“I’ve tested it for about a day’s travel in both directions. I can’t find any weaknesses.” I offered, watching the mercenary as she joined Nesta with her palms braced against The Wall. It was strange to fell something that your eyes couldn’t detect. It was strange to see two people lean against an invisible barrier. If The Wall hadn’t been there, they would have been falling on their faces into the snow. I allowed myself a quick smile at the image of Nesta crashing into the snow and coming up red-faced and spitting. 

“The Children of the Blessed must be getting through it somehow,” Nesta muttered, repeatedly shoving her weight against The Wall. “They could have died on the journey up,” supplied the mercenary, now kicking portions of The Wall near its base. 

Nesta and I both nodded, accepting her analysis. If there was one opinion which bound the two of us it was that the Children of the Blessed were complete idiots and completely capable of getting themselves killed on a simple hike north. 

Hopelessness settled into my bones and I could see it setting into Nesta’s shoulders as well. Rationally, I knew Feyre would be fine and that she would find a way to make that golden monster her bitch. As her sister, the visceral need to rip the monster limb from limb and fashion him into a rug was overpowering. 

The mercenary continued down The Wall, heading east. She ran her hand against it the same way I had, bracing and leaning into The Wall, looking for any give. Nesta was doing the same thing heading west. Deciding I’d rather not let another one of my sisters venture off into the woods alone, I trailed after Nesta, checking The Wall in case she missed something. 

I grinned as Nesta struggled through a particularly difficult snow drift. Her fire and brimstone determination was showing. 

“Nesta,” I cleared my throat, grabbing her attention. “If something happens, get behind me and run.” Nesta snorted and rolled her eyes at me. I scowled. “I mean it. I can’t protect you out here.”

“You don’t need to,” Nesta snarled disdainfully at me. “It’s not like you can fight anyway.” It was a fight not to roll my eyes. If only she knew. I was about to protest when Nesta fiddled with her belt and pulled out…a steak knife. 

I stared at Nesta and then at the knife. I couldn’t help it, I burst out laughing. 

The noise echoed alarmingly through the woods, but I wasn’t about to stop. “Do you even know how to use a knife?” I cackled, clutching my stomach. Nesta ground her teeth in anger. 

“You stab with the sharp part,” she hissed through her teeth mockingly. 

“That’s not even a knife,” I continued giggling helplessly, “maybe a toothpick.” Nesta was glaring at me. If looks could kill, I’d be dead. I stopped giggling when she pointed the knife sharply at me and put my hands up in a silent plea for mercy. 

“Here,” I pulled out one of my own knives, which was most assuredly not a steak knife, and handed it to Nesta. It was double-edged and not as heavy as some of my other blades. At around the length of Nesta’s forearm, it looked much more substantial than a steak knife. 

Nesta hesitantly reached for the knife, it would be her first time handling a weapon. A proper weapon. Not the type you find with the silverware. Her uncalloused and neat hands wrapped around the knife’s worn leather grip. It looked wrong in a way, to see my sister standing there with a deadly weapon in her hand, especially with hands as soft as hers. “When you stab something with that, they’ll at least feel it.” 

Glowering at me and with no thanks whatsoever, she continued walking along The Wall. “Oh, it’s no problem at all Nesta, I’m always happy to contribute to your well-being,” I proclaimed valiantly to the spot where Nesta had been standing moments before. 

I pressed my hand against it too and followed her lead. We trod carefully through the snow drifts, minding the massive tree roots. I settled into a comfortable rhythm. I was more relaxed with my sister than I was alone. The sense of wrongness in my bones whenever I was in the world places of the world decreased somewhat as I planted my feet in Nesta’s footprints. 

I wasn’t paying attention to where I went, my hand still jammed firmly against The Wall when the sense of wrongness in my bones increased ten-fold. 

I stopped to listen as Nesta foraged ahead. The hair on the back of my neck was standing on end. The forest was utterly silent. The soft feathery wings of birds in the trees were gone. The forest was holding its breath. 

“Nesta,” I hissed, and then again with increased intensity, “Nesta!” She turned to look at me in exasperation, her eyes still blazing from my degradation of her toothpick. 

Some sixth-sense I’d honed by living on streets were stabbings occurred as often as morning coffee had rubbed off on me. “We aren’t alone,” I breathed, and I watched her eyes go wide as saucers. 

Run. Run, urged every inch of my body. Run. Runrunrunrunrun— 

It became a mantra as my hand wrapped around Nesta’s wrist and I bolted. My legs pumped, faster and faster. Pit fights had honed my footwork, so I avoided the twisting roots easily. But Nesta was tripping every few steps, and her breathing was ragged. 

Darius’s advice from when I first started fighting came back to me: stay fit, it will save your life one day. He wasn’t wrong, I thought as I bolted through the trees, swift as a deer, I just didn’t think this was how he’d be right. 

Nesta was flagging and there was a raw quality to her breathing which didn’t bode well. But her steely determination kept her hard on my heels. The shadows behind us writhed threateningly before forming into four distinct figures. 

I dared to glance back and instantly regretted it. They were so dark they seemed to be molded from shadow.

The monsters were sprung directly from my nightmares. A combination of serpentine features and male humanoid bodies, whose arms ended in flesh-shredding talons. These were the monsters that would kill us all. These were the monsters of blood-filled legends that kept children up at night. Their huge, almond-shaped eyes followed Nesta and me. 

They were grinning as they raced after us. Their mouths were full of razor-sharp teeth and silvery forked tongues. 

But they slowly drifted out of sight, falling behind. Nesta was panting hard as I continued dragging her through the trees in the direction that the mercenary disappeared. I’d have a better chance against them with someone who could also fight. Nesta would be dead weight in a fight. She already was. 

For a few minutes, as my pulse pounded in my head and the monsters didn’t reappear I thought we were safe. But the silence that followed the monsters was still surrounding as. I kept my eyes front-facing as my legs pounded away. 

Runrunrunrunrunrunrun— 

As we rounded a large tree, my heart stopped. There was a pair of almond eyes grinning at me from the shadows. 

I staggered backward, shoving Nesta behind me. For once she was listening to me without question. 

Two shadowed monsters emerged from behind the tree, their long forked tongues flickering. In a heartbeat, my longest knives had found their way into my hands. One with a leather handle, the other with a bone handle. They offered some relief until Nesta let out a small, terrified, shriek. A noise I wasn't aware that Nesta was even capable of making. 

There were another four shadow monsters behind us. All grinning like the cat that got the cream. Their razor-sharp teeth were on display and their flesh-shredding talons flexed, glinting menacingly. 

My heart stopped dead in my chest. They were going to kill us, and they would enjoy doing it.


	10. Chapter Ten

I pulled Nesta flush to my back and held her close. I could feel her heart hammering through our clothes. Mine was hammering too as I met the luminous almond eyes of the monsters. Their mouths were pulled into grotesque grins, rows of flesh-shredding teeth on display. 

“The Dark Mother has sent us a meal today, brothers,” said a particularly large one as he took a few languid steps towards us. Nesta shuffled slightly so I was between them. If there was some “dark mother” who popped these out of her cooch I certainly didn’t want to meet her. A scream from one of us might notify the mercenary—but my breath was thin, and she might be out of range. I kept all my sense strained towards the monsters and Nesta, who was now whimpering slightly. 

The—I assumed—leader continued prowling forwards, savoring the slowness of the hunt. He looked like he already knew how good we’d taste—or how good Nesta would taste, my bony ass probably wasn’t even appealing to something that looked half-starved. 

Something about that look kicked my body into overdrive. My heart beat faster and harder, and the detail of the world around me sharpened as I focused on the monsters. My limbs stopped trembling and my knives felt like a safety line in my hands. 

Some swaggering part of my ego swelled up and purred at the thought of a fight. My vision began to pulse red and my fingers itched to move. I wanted this fight, I realized with a jolt. It had been over a year since I’d been outmatched, and my body was aching for a challenge. If anything, these were practice for the golden monster. 

I only had one problem—Nesta. She was my weakness in all of this. If those monsters wanted to hit me where it hurt, it wouldn’t even be hard. Nesta was soft and pliable. Completely untrained. 

“I’ll distract them,” I breathed softly at Nesta, who nodded minutely in understanding. “I want you to run and find the mercenary. She will protect you.” Nesta nodded again, her eyes were sharp and assessing me as if to ask: what about you?

I left that question unanswered. My hands were shaking again, but not out of fear. I was excited. Against all my hard-earned survival instincts I was excited to face these monsters, six-to-one, and see if I couldn’t win. It was madness.  
With that comforting thought, my right wrist flicked, too fast for the eye to follow, and my knife flew, glinting ominously. It sailed harmlessly over the monster’s shoulder. But all of the monsters’ almond shaped eyes trailed it. It was all I needed. 

I gave Nesta shove and she bolted off through the trees, throwing up snow as she went. I usually found her instinct to save her own hide before anyone else infuriating, but in this case, it helped. I didn’t let myself track her progress. In less than a heartbeat, my hand had a new knife in it, and my other wrist flicked as well. I didn’t miss. 

The lead monster didn’t even have time to scream as my knife found a new home right between his eyes. He hit the snow-coated ground with a soft thud. 

The monsters stared at me, forgetting my sister. It was unsettling to be on the receiving end of such predatory instinct, but all I could think of was the blinding wave of power that flooded through my veins when my knife sailed into their leader’s skull. 

Deafening screeches of fury filled the air as the remaining five bared their claws and teeth—all designed to rip me into bloody ribbons—and charged. I felt my bowels turn to water, but my face stretched itself into a mad grin. 

Two more flew, ripply steel glinting cheerfully as they sailed through the air. One found its mark, opening the throat of a monster and splattering its ruby red blood everywhere. I found myself blinking at that. I‘d expected their blood to be black for some reason—as rotten as what was on the outside. The other missed, only nicking the shoulder of a demon. 

I waited until they were almost on me. I moved—

New knives were hanging heavy in palms and they spun into action as the four monsters closed in. 

They made me bleed first. A swipe of their long claws left blood gushing from my shoulder, but my brain didn’t register the sting. I was high on power as I plunged a knife into the leathery hide of the monster that dared come towards me. Nothing was more satisfying than the way his almond eyes bulged in surprise and the lack of resistance as my knife slid deeper, into his heart. I left it there as blood gushed from the monster’s mouth, eyes, and ears. His eyes stretched wide in fear as he realized he was dying. I didn’t have time to savor it. 

My body became automatic as it did so often during fights—strike, duck, roll, stab. It all came as easily as breathing after all these years. But these monsters were in a different weight class altogether. 

My dull brown hair whipped wildly around my face as I avoided their impossibly fast blows. I wasn’t as fast as they were—not by a long shot. But the close quarters and not wanting to hurt their friends forced them to slow down to my level. How considerate. 

One of them dragged its talons through the space where my head had been less than a heartbeat prior. It was the last thing he would ever do. I grinned madly and laughed—scaring myself as much as the monster—as another one of my knives earned its keep, gutting the monster with a swipe. His intestines slide out of his with a nasty squelching noise.

I spent too long staring and admiring the way my knife had just opened him up. Sharp, blindingly sharp pain exploded in my side. I glanced down just in time to see the claws of the monster I’d nicked earlier withdraw from my side. 

Unlike the cuts on my shoulder and arm—this one I felt. 

I barely registered my pained scream as I fought to stay upright and conscious. The edges of my vision became fuzzy and the blood continued pumping out of my side. Dimly, I registered that the white showing through the cut was my bone. The monsters had withdrawn to laugh at my pain and lick their lips in anticipation. 

“When we’re done ripping off your skin, you’ll wish you had surrendered to us in the first place,” one hissed, his forked tongue flickering incessantly at the sight and smell of my blood. 

White-hot flame shot through me. Rage, terror, and wild instinct. It was meaningless to just fight them. I wanted the challenge and to protect my sister, yes. But these monsters—the way they leered and grinned like they’d already won—I hated them. Fighting wasn’t enough. I wanted to win. 

Without heed for my side or my arm, one of my arms shot forward and connected with a monster’s jaw—hard. An uppercut that had felled seven-foot-tall men with arms like bull necks. It only made that bastard stagger. Rage—unrelating and white-hot—bubbled up in me. These monsters were stronger than most humans, they hunted us for fun. 

I turned my attention from the staggering monster to the one I’d nicked earlier. I grinned—the same grin they fixed on me while I was still an easy meal. To my credit, the monster looked mildly disconcerted. I planted another lightning-fast uppercut to his face and watched him stagger. Before he could recover, my favorite knife—a gift from Adrassy with a black blade—gutted him with two clean swipes. One of my hand plunged into him and held fast against his slippery innards, holding him up. As terror—true terror—dawned on his face, I slid the knife upwards through his jaw. It popped out the top of his head, the point gleaming menacingly, covered in blood and brains. 

I grinned as the blood splattered on me. The metallic smell and taste infecting all my senses. More—my body urged, enjoying the feel of the monster dying at my hands. 

There was a furious world-shattering snarl behind me from the remaining monster. Its luminous almond-shaped eyes were bulging in shock. I let out a mad laugh, letting out the tension from days stuck in the wild on my own. 

The monster flew towards me—faster than I’d ever be able to move—but not as fast as an ash arrow. 

The mercenary emerged from the woods, Nesta sequestered safely behind her. The mercenary’s corded arms strained against her longbow, which held another ash arrow at the ready. Her eyes didn’t leave the monster she killed until it stopped twitching and letting out pained whines. 

Nesta was looking at the monster’s corpses like she didn’t trust them to be dead or stay that way. But as her eyes settled on me there was something off about them. 

Distrust—it hit me like a blow to the stomach. More painful than any of the cuts littering my side and arm.  
Her sharp eyes took me in, covered in blood and gore—some of it mine—and she took a step back. She stepped behind the mercenary. 

The mercenary—thankfully—seemed to have no inhibitions with me, even after my mad shredding of the monsters. Her eyes were scanning me the same way Nesta’s were, but not distrustfully—approvingly. “You’re a fighter.” It wasn’t a question. I nodded anyway. 

“Among other things.” The cuts on my arm and side burned as I began to pull apart the monsters’ corpses to retrieve my knives. My favorite blade made a nasty sucking noise as it was pulled from the monster’s head. One knife was lost to the snow and another I yanked out of a tree as my side squawked in protest at being used and let out a fresh pulse of blood for emphasis. 

Nesta turned on her heel and tromped off into the woods. A wise decision especially after the last time we’d done that we’d been hunted down by six—things—straight from the depths of hell.

I ignored her, she’d get over it eventually. It might take a few months, but it would happen at some point. I slid my knives—still coated in blood and other body parts—into their sheaths. I’d clean them later. The mercenary, mercifully, offered me her shoulder to lean on as we made our way back into the forest—away from The Wall. 

“Are you still hell-bent on finding a way through The Wall?” Her brilliant black eyes were fixed forwards, navigating us through the large tree roots that made the ground here a health hazard. 

I thought of the blood-drenched clearing behind us and the monsters, and slowly—I nodded. “I’d give anything to get to the other side. But we can’t find a way through.” The mercenary quirked an eyebrow at me. 

“Those faeries didn’t deter you?” I shrugged noncommittally. 

“I’d rather not meet any more of them,” that was the truth, “but they wouldn’t dissuade me from crossing The Wall,” that was also the truth. The mercenary snorted at me. 

“I’ve heard rumors about how completely gone pit fighters were mentally, but you’re even worse than I expected.” 

I grinned. “Always happy to impress.”


	11. Chapter Eleven

The mercenary and Nesta had set up a campsite not far from The Wall. Or rather, the mercenary had set up the campsite, I doubted Nesta had done anything physical. The horror of having calloused hands weighed heavily on her mind—it was her primary excuse not to chop wood. 

My shoulder and arm weren’t bleeding, but the blood had stuck my clothing to the wound. It would be a bitch to unstick. Rather like waxing—Anika did it regularly and once convinced me to do it with her, it safe to say it was one of the more painful things I’d ever done—except it’d be worse because of the slices into my shoulder. The once burning pain had worked its way down to a dull throb.

My side was a different story, blood was leaking out of it steadily and flashes of white indicated my ribs were exposed to the elements. I shuddered at the thought. One thing I’d never been able to deal with was bone. The sound of breaking bones set my teeth on edge and I’d vomited after the fight where I’d earned a reputation and shattered a poor girl’s leg. I just didn’t like the idea of the bone being outside of my meat. But what was worse than my disgust, was the pain. As my battle high wore off and I lost more blood the mercenary had resorted to carrying me bridal style to the camp—useless lump that I was. 

Nesta was sitting elegantly with her legs crossed on what had to be her bedroll—perish the thought of sharing something with a mercenary. Somehow, through everything, her hair was still up in a perfect braided coil. Life really was unfair.  
My side gave a particularly painful throb as the mercenary set me down in the snow. The world went even more out of focus as my blood oozed from my side, soaking my clothes and dying the snow a ruby-red. 

The mercenary left me there and puttered about the campsite, pulling things from her travel sack. She pulled out a wad of sourleaf, bandages, and a small—but judging from the label, potent—flask of alcohol. She even pulled together some kindling and branches for a fire, lighting them easily with flint. 

Nesta watched the scene wordlessly, her eyes taking in the gaping hole in my side. She didn’t move or ask me if I was alright. Sisterly concern. If I died she’d be inheriting a larger portion of the fortune we now had. Money and Elain seemed to be the things that made her world go around, occasionally the other three members of her family if something bad enough happened. 

“You’ve never seen anything like this have you?” I croaked out pathetically, the strain of simply taking made black spots dance in front of my eyes. “It’s not like you ever saw what was under Father’s bandages because you never helped clean the injury.” Nesta silently nodded, still staring at my side. 

I’d mistaken her earlier expression for indifference, now I realized it was a frozen shock. Her delicate nose crinkled in disgust as I shifted, and blood spirted out a bit more, there was another flash of white that turned my stomach.  
“Should you feel like throwing up,” I muttered, it was barely audible but Nesta heard me, “do try and do it elsewhere because you’ll set me off and I’ll throw up too.” Nesta nodded again, fixated on my side. I’d learned after a heavy night of drinking out with other clerks during my first month in Amre: I would vomit if I saw someone else vomit. 

My attention was pulled away from Nesta when the mercenary walked up to me with the bottle of alcohol. I suppose she brought it so she could tolerate Nesta. She unstopped the bottle and helped me take a chug of it. It burned on the way down and I fought the urge to cough. 

The mercenary saw my face contort and winced sympathetically. The stuff was strong enough to peel paint. She also gave me a strap of leather, over her shoulder Nesta’s brow furrowed in confusion, but I understood and obligingly bit down on it. It tasted nasty, but soon I wouldn’t be all that bothered by that. 

The mercenary pulled my ruined tunic away from my body, revealing the full extent of the damage. The wound burned in protest and being prodded at, but the alcohol had made the feeling somewhat fuzzy and manageable. The edges of my tattoo peaked out, but neither Nesta or the mercenary noticed them. 

The mercenary simply muttered, “Brace yourself,” before pouring the paint-stripping alcohol into my side. My teeth clamped down and my eyes bulged. My throat strained to scream. My side was one fire—burning—I could feel every inch of the damn wound. The world went black. 

It was awful—pure pain. Worse than getting the injury in the first place. My back arched me involuntarily off the ground before it collapsed down, leaving me panting and sweaty. Nesta looked thoroughly alarmed, eyes stretched wide. But I couldn’t care less about her. The mercenary was whispering soothingly to me, gently examining the wound which was still pulsing out blood. I didn’t care about her either. All I cared about was my side, which was groaning in pain right along with me. 

The mercenary moved to the fire and I couldn’t see what she was bringing back towards me, but Nesta’s eyes widened even further. Not good. The mercenary came into view with one of her knives that was glowing red-hot. Very not good. She placed her hand in the middle of my stomach to hold me steady—I was shaking like a leaf in a storm. 

I didn’t dare look down as the mercenary brought the knife to my side. Didn’t dare think about the heat. I didn’t look as the red-hot knife pressed against my torn and bleeding side—

Pain—

Unending and immeasurable. I felt blood bubble up around my lips as my teeth sank into the leather strap. My body was thrashing involuntarily as I ripped my throat open screaming. The mercenary didn’t stop. Didn’t ask if I was alright as my body strained against unconsciousness. She just kept bringing over red-hot knives and finishing the job. Pain was better than bleeding out. My world had gone black the second the blade touched me, but I kept screaming. 

I woke up to new clothes and a bandaged side and arm. The disgusting smell of charred flesh hung heavy in the air. The mercenary had hauled me onto a bedroll, making me marginally more comfortable. Being on a bedroll was better than freezing my ass off in the snow. 

My side was throbbing rhythmically in time with my shoulder. The pain was bad—but nowhere near what it had been. My side had been left open to the cool air bar the thin bandage, something I was grateful for, had it been wrapped in my clothes I would have been running a fever. 

I looked around the camp, the fire was long extinguished, and the night sky shone above. It was gorgeous. There were wide swaths of stars and a brilliant moon lighting up the world. The mercenary was curled up on her own bedroll, fast asleep with her eyes flickering under their lids. My collection of knives—which had been covered in gore from the fight—now lay clean and gleaming in the snow next to her. She’d cleaned them for me. I made a mental note to fall to my knees and thank her. 

My entire body and thoughts felt faint—too light and weak to be real. My senses were muddled, vision swimming in and out of focus and my throat was painfully dry and cracked. But there was something warm in my hand. Ignoring my sore, battered, body’s protests I turned my head to see what it was. 

A hand. 

It was an elegant hand, wrapped around my bloody and dirty fighter’s fingers. I trailed the arm to its owner. 

Nesta was lying down on her bedroll next to me, so close I could count her eyelashes. My older sister had her hand wrapped around mind despite its disgusting state. I smiled softly, despite a particularly bad throb from my side. My sister had a softer caring side, and I was blessed enough that it was turned towards me. 

Turning away and orienting myself on my bedroll, my eyes shuttered shut. The image of my sister holding my hand and the brilliant night sky burned into my mind. 

The next morning dawned and I woke to find Nesta gone, and a pile of sourleaf in her place. A poor substitution for a sister, but it would do. I grabbed it and stuffed the whole wad into my mouth. The taste was as bad as it always was, like biting into a lemon, but it would calm my throbbing side and arm. 

Nesta was sitting by a small fire, warming up. She was eating a sausage with her hands, somehow making the practice fit for a Queen’s dinner table. The mercenary was leaned against a tree, her legs stretched out in front of her and relaxed, crossed at the ankle. There was a gap of skin between the line of her pants and her shirt, showing off her black veins. 

Paranoid, I glanced down at my side and let out a puff of relief. No black veins. 

“Awake?” I groaned softly at the mercenary in response. “You’ve got a set of lungs on you, girl.” I groaned softly again, this time it was tinged with relief, the sourleaf was starting to work and numb my wounds.  
We continued on in silence for a while. Nesta chewing her food daintily where I chowed down on my drugs. 

I must have drifted off again because when I woke up the sun was farther up in the sky. The mercenary helped me up and shoved another bundle of sourleaf at me. I chowed down happily on the vile leaf and hobbled away from my bedroll punch drunk. I’d stagger sideways one direction and then go the other. Nesta watched from the outskirts of the camp and the mercenary paused rolling up my bedroll to stare at me. 

“Is the problem too much sourleaf in your system or not enough?” The mercenary asked with a tint of amusement as I clutched onto the side of a tree to stay upright. I let out another pathetic groan—my new favorite way of communicating. “Blood loss,” I managed to choke out as my side gave another bad throb. 

The mercenary nodded and stuffed the bedroll I’d used into her pack before making her way to me. I leaned on her gratefully as we started heading out of camp, Nesta trailing us silently. She hadn’t said a word to me all morning. I couldn’t decide whether to be surprised or not. 

As we started our slow progress back south, Nesta eventually overtook us. I’d spent all of a few minutes wondering how she knew where she was going when I saw the markings cut into the trees. The mercenary had probably done it on the way up.  
My mind flitted back unwillingly to the previous night whenever my blurred focus fixed on Nesta. The last time she’d held my hand or offered me any form of comfort had been well before Mother died. I was partly to blame for that, I wasn’t the easiest person to like and it wasn’t like Nesta was the only one in the relationship who was overly fond of insulting people. Apart from the revelation that Nesta still cared enough about me to comfort me the image of the night sky was burned into my brain. 

Maybe it was because I’d been happy that Nesta cared. Maybe it was because I was glad to be alive. But that night sky had been one of the most brilliant ones I had ever seen. Amre, especially the red-light district, was constantly bustling with people and it was forever emitting light to keep the streets visible so the star constellations were rarely visible or clear. Everything had been so beautiful, even my knives had seemed softer in that light. 

My knives—

My head swung around to the mercenary fast enough to startle her. “Where are my knives?” My voice came out about as panicked as I felt. My knives were an extension of me, a tool to be used the same way I used my fists. The mercenary grinned at my tone, understanding my panic. “They’re in my pack, safe and sound.” 

I nodded, placated. “Thank you for cleaning them.” The mercenary smiled softly at that. 

“It was no problem. Always a pleasure to handle a well-made weapon.” My chest puffed out at that. My knives were well-made. 

We continued on in a companionable silence as Nesta pulled farther and farther away from us. I was slowing us down, but I wasn’t about to feel guilty. I’d willingly fought to save Nesta’s life—and because I had the insane desire to fight those monsters—so she could put up with me walking slower. I had a hole in my side. It was a valid excuse. 

“I’ve heard about you,” the mercenary piped up unexpectedly. I blinked. 

“What?”

“I didn’t know your real name, but I saw your tattoo when I bandaged you.” Comprehension dawned. “Disappointed to stick my face to that reputation?”

The mercenary grinned at my question, it was slightly feral. “No.” My eyebrows shot up. That was a first, usually, I got people saying I thought you’d be: taller, prettier, stronger—the list went on. “It’s more satisfying knowing that someone as small and as skinny as you is knocking those beef heads on their asses.” 

I let out a bark of laughter but stopped the second my side twinged. It was nice to hear a different critique. The feeling I got was similar to the one Feyre gave me when she unexpectedly told me she thought I was beautiful when I normally heard that I looked like a glass of milk that had turned.


	12. Chapter Tweleve

The progress back to the village was slow and that was my fault. A journey that would have taken two days took three and a half. Not a horrendous delay but Nesta was starting to look mutinous at my inability to move faster. I understood. If there was something preventing me from getting out of the forest sooner, I would actively make it stop being a problem. Unfortunately for Nesta, making a human stop being a problem is called “murder” in layman’s terms. So that was out of the question. 

Nesta wasn’t willing to leave us either. Despite the mercenary’s markings on the trees, there was still the chance that she would get lost, and although she wouldn’t admit it, the encounter with the monsters had scared her. It was clear in the way her back and shoulders tensed whenever a shadow moved, or a twig snapped. I didn’t worry about another attack simply because I couldn’t. 

My head was in a fog of pain most of the time as I leaned against the mercenary for constant support. It was a credit to her that she didn’t snap at me. I’d tried to walk on my own a few times, but blood loss had done my head in, so I ended up swaying back and forth, punch drunk. I’d walked into a few trees and once the novelty had worn off the mercenary helped me again. Any time I smacked into a tree I was greeted by Nesta clicking her tongue and the mercenary snorting. 

My constant chewing of sourleaf had dyed my teeth pink and my spit now looked like blood. But it kept the pain at bay. My side and arms were doused in alcohol each night, but now I was used to the burn. I didn’t even need the leather strap to bite down on. Some part of me was proud that I could withstand the pain. The other part was angry that the way my life was going I needed to get used to it. Things would be better once I had access to proper medicine and healers. Until then, walking was an effort and breathing hurt. 

The village came into view and I could have wept. It was the same as I remembered. The same shitty, crumbling buildings stood tall and proud. The same people were standing in the marketplace, gossiping. The same stores were opened and selling the same old things. It was wonderful, in a massively boring way. Things needed to be boring right now for my peace of mind. For Nesta’s peace of mind too. She needed a nice new dress and a nice meal and a nice party. Elain, too. Elain was crucial to Nesta’s peace of mind. I needed something boring and I needed Anika. I needed to have a lamb dinner with her that I would hate but she would love.  
I shook it off. First, I needed a healer. 

The mercenary, very nicely, helped me haul myself through town and up a hill to what had to be our new mansion At least I assumed it was ours since Nesta wouldn’t go on a social visit after she’d spent the last few days in the forest. 

The mansion was…ornate. There were wrought iron gates had intricate designs topping them. The designs were covered in gold, making the spikes lining the top of the fence and gates look no less intimidating. The gardens were large and sprawling—perfect for Elain. The lawns were green, despite it being the depths of winter—I didn’t want to know how much that cost. There were flowers blooming—that also probably cost too much. The mansion was huge—all sprawling white marble and large windows. The front doors were huge and a beautiful dark mahogany, studded with gold. It was almost too much—like we were compensating for all of our years of poverty with a big dumb house. 

Nesta strode in like she owned the place, which, in a way, she kind of did. Technically, however, it was Father’s money—a fact I’d be taking advantage of. I had no intention of relying on him or going to him whenever I wanted something, not that he would actually deny me anything. He was too giving. Not a great trait in a businessman. I’d have my own money or none at all. 

The doors opened for Nesta with no hesitation and she strode in confidently. The mercenary helped me hobble in after her. While Nesta got servants rushing forwards to attend to her, I got strange looks from them. They looked at me like something a stray cat dragged into the house. I knew those stares and I knew their type. They were the same breed as the waiters in fancy restaurants who treat people in ragged clothes like scum. 

“My sister,” Nesta said, and that was all the introduction I got before she disappeared up one of the grand staircases. The servants walked towards me and helped me out of my cloak, a man in a butler’s livery let me steady myself on him as the mercenary extricated herself from my grip. 

The inside of the house was more opulent than the outside. Rich, intricate rugs were draped across the available floor and large bronze braziers burned warmly along each wall. There were marble staircases and priceless paintings adorning the walls. Not father’s taste. This was all my sisters’ opulent taste. 

I hated it. It was too much and too colorful. Too formal. It wasn’t home. 

I turned to the butler. “I need you to have a healer summoned, the best on in town if possible.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” A chill went down my spine. 

“Don’t call me that.” 

The butler flinched slightly at my tone, so did the rest of the servants who were now pulling away my outer layers. I cursed myself. They’d spent years serving people who used that tone and then followed through with a pay cut or punishment. “Please,” I said, softening my voice, and they all seemed to let out a breath of air, “just call me Zoya.” 

They all nodded in unison, relieved that they weren’t about to be punished. 

“Please also see to it that she,” I gestured at the mercenary who was watching the scene unfold, “gets paid double what my sister promised her. Then let me know what the price is.” The butler nodded. 

“Yes ma’a—Zoya. Yes, Zoya.” 

I gave him an encouraging smile. Positive reinforcement works on dogs and that cow that Darius had growing up—why not butlers? If it was successful with him I should try it with Nesta. I could get her housetrained. I grinned briefly at the thought and clasped arms with the mercenary, who grinned back at me. She passed me a small leather sack which made a small clinking noise as I grabbed it—my knives. 

Now that I looked at her—even though my vision seemed to be perpetually fuzzy—her granite hewn face seemed to be beautiful. The black veins creeping up her neck somewhat ruined the effect. “Thank you,” I said firmly, “for everything.”

The mercenary nodded, her easy grin coming out to play. “You are more than welcome—especially with how well I’m about to be paid.” I rolled my eyes and hobbled towards the steps, a young woman with straw-colored hair accompanied me, letting me lean on her. 

We left the butler and the mercenary behind on the foyer as we went up the stairs, my side squawking. I was lead down a carpeted hallway and into a bedroom. I didn’t absorb too much of it, it seemed to be an average bedroom for a house of such gaudy wealth. I absently wondered how much the wall plaster cost—more than anything I’d touched in years. I rolled my eyes at my sisters who were undoubtedly to blame for the house’s decoration. 

The maid whisked me into an en-suite bathing room. I ignored the porcelain sink with its gold inlay and the beautiful white marble floor in favor of stripping down. I groaned in pain whenever my shoulder or side were disturbed. My cloak was left downstairs—it was in tatters, so I wasn’t sure what the butler would do with it, probably throw it out. I would. My tunic came off slowly with the help of the blonde girl. 

I heard her gasp as my back, side, and shoulder were revealed. The bandages had held tight—the mercenary knew what she was doing. There was some blood staining my shoulder’s bandage but none on my side. My side hadn’t bled since the mercenary cauterized it—a necessary measure to stop me from bleeding out. But it wasn’t my bandages I could feel her eyes fixed to—it was my back. My tattoo. A quiet satisfaction filled me at her shock, she never would have expected a high born girl to have a demon covering up her back. 

“Can—” the girl hesitated, “can I touch it?” I forced down a soft laugh to avoid angering my side. “Sure.” 

I felt her finger trace circles in the center of my back—the blood red eyes. “I’ve never seen a tattoo like this before,” she mused as she helped me step out of my pants and underthings. I was acutely aware of my bony structure, but she didn’t seem all that alarmed. I’d gotten used to showing off my skeletal body in The Pits, but there was something different about someone seeing my body while I was vulnerable. My gut clenched—I didn’t like it. 

“My brother works on a ship and her has tattoos, so do his friends, but I’ve never seen one with such detail and color.” I smiled softly. My tattoo—or rather my back—was really one of the only parts of my body that I was proud to show off. It was a work of art. I didn’t like my bony back with its spine and ribs sticking out but sticking a work of art on to it made me love it. I had half a mind to get the rest of my body done. 

The maid was filling up the washing basin now—it was a smooth white porcelain with gold feet and inlay to match the rest of the washroom. 

“Cold water, please,” I requested as I began to unwind the bandages on my shoulder. The maid seemed a bit confused by the request, but she complied none the less. I doubt my sisters ever requested anything but piping hot water. I looked at my shoulder once the bandages were gone. The wound was still big and gaping—but it wasn’t infected thanks to the alcohol. There was no foul smell emanating from it, or pus. It would need stitches and pastes and it would scar, but it was no terrible thing. 

My side was another story, as its bandages came loose and fell to the floor I had a hard time not staring at the damage. The flesh was burned—it had been painful, but it kept me alive. It would be needed much more than stitches and a few pastes. The scarring would be extensive and hideous, but I’d seen tattoos over scar tissue before, so I could do something to make it attractive. 

I looked over to the maid, who was staring at my side and the claw marks in my shoulder in horror. I could see her face going a bit green. Best to get her out of here. If she started vomiting I would too. I bundled up my clothes and handed them to her. She took them slowly, as if in a trance. “Please go throw those out.”

She nodded dumbly. 

“When the healer arrives bring them up, you don’t need to stay.”

She nodded dumbly again, but there was some relief in her eyes and the set of her shoulders. 

“Take the leather satchel on the floor and be careful with it—there are knives in it, just place it on one of the tables by my bed.” 

She nodded again, tore her eyes from my side and all but fled from the room—still green in the face. 

I put my legs into the tub and hissed at the temperature—the girl had listened when I’d requested cold water. It was arctic. But it felt wonderful against my ruined side which seemed to constantly radiate heat like most burns. I sank in up to my ears—relishing the cold. 

I sat in the tub for a few minutes—simply enjoying the cold before I grabbed a bar of soap on the tub’s edge and began to scrub. My eyes nearly rolled into the back of my head. It was luxurious. I’d spent years rubbing myself raw with coarse, unscented, soap. This smelled like almonds and honey—not my preference but much better than filth. It was impossibly smooth and creamy, running over my skin effortlessly. Bless. I didn’t want to think about how much this cost either. 

When my skin was clean, and I didn’t smell like a hovel anymore I hauled myself out of the water—which was now room temperature—and found the towels. Like everything else in the mansion, they were absurdly opulent. Clean and fluffy and pure white. I bundled myself up in them, careful to make sure they didn’t brush my side and walked out into my room. 

There was a fireplace made of a smooth, iridescent, black stone. The fire in it was leaping happily but not burning too harshly, something I was thankful for since my side didn’t tolerate heat. My eyes were drawn to the leather satchel on a beautifully carved bedside table—my knives. The fourposter bed had a magnificent red canopy with gold embroidery. I ran my hand over my new blankets—silk. Figures, the only blankets, and sheets Mother had considered worthy were silk, Nesta and Elain were picking up her mantle and indulgence in the expensive. The rug beneath my feet was of fine make too, thick and soft and vibrant. There were huge windows looking out onto the front courtyard giving me a beautiful view of the forest and village, not to mention Elain’s new gardens. 

I was considering drying my hair when there was a knock on the mahogany door—also more expensive than it needed to be. 

“Come in.”

A man in healer’s robes and holding a large case—probably filled to the brim with medicine—walked in, escorted by the maid with straw-colored hair, who was carrying a letter addressed to me. I took the letter off of her and gave her a small smile in thanks. She smiled in turn and hurried out of the room. She was a sweet girl, but she had no stomach for gore—which was exactly what my side had become. 

The healer was an older man—probably around my father’s age judging by the greying hair at his temples and crow’s feet framing his eyes. His dark hair was impeccably brushed back and styled, and his beard was much the same. His healer’s uniform was well-tailored. In short, he was far more put together than I ever would be. 

I set the letter aside, smiling briefly when I saw who it was from, and turned to face the healer who was already rattling off on his spiel. “My name is John Hudson and I will be patching you up and checking on your progress periodically. Your maid—” I balked slightly her being my maid, “informed me that you have injuries on your left shoulder and your right side. I need you to remove your—”

He paused as I easily let my towel hit the floor. I watched as his eyes widened, taking in my side and my shoulder, and then the rest of me. Without another word, he gestured for me to sit down on my bed. I did. He began with my shoulder with a small mutter of, “We’ll start with the easy part.” 

He poked around my shoulder a bit, gently examining the depth of the cuts and looking for infection. He pulled his case open and found a bottle full of what appeared to be normal water, and a few cotton swabs. “I’m just going to clean it out,” he explained, holding the cotton and water aloft to show that he was holding no scary instruments. I nodded my permission and he set about cleaning out the claw marks. 

I grimaced at the feel. Even though the man was clearly being gentle, the cotton was still abrasive against my cuts. After a few minutes filled only with the healer’s muttering and the crackling of the fire he eventually pulled back, satisfied. He stowed the bottle and simply tossed the used cotton into my fire where it caught light quickly. 

“I’m going to need to stitch these up.” I nodded again, completely unbothered. I’d had stitches before in my leg, it wasn’t nice, but it wasn’t life-threatening either. The healer raised his eyebrow at me. “Usually I get more protests from high born ladies about stitches.” 

“I’ve had them before when I was a child. I thought it would be a great idea to jump out a tree into a creek and a sharp rock cut open my calf.” The doctor smiled and shook his head softly as he readied a needle and thread. “You sound like my son. The difference being that he would do that as an adult too.”

I didn’t tell him that as an adult who was supposed to know better, I’d still do it in a heartbeat. 

I didn’t flinch or shy away as the needle went through my skin, or as he slowly pulled my shoulder together again. It took him a while, but when he put his supplies away he had a smile on his face. When I looked down I knew why—the butler certainly had gotten me the best healer in the village. My shoulder was completely pulled together again by neat and even lines of stitches. It would heal nicely, and probably with not much of a scar. 

The healer came back with a green paste and smoothed it over my shoulder, it burned a little going on, but the sensation quickly died out. “You need to apply this twice a day to your shoulder and then bandage it. Keep your shoulder dry, no long baths or jumping in creeks,” he said with a small twinkle in his eye. 

The healer turned his gaze to my side. “Now for the tricky bit.” He bent to examine my side and I shifted my arm, so he could get a better view. “What happened?” 

“I got slashed by a bear and it wouldn’t stop bleeding, so we ended up cauterizing the wound.” The lie flowed easily from my lips. The healer nodded, gently examining the wound. “We will need to heal the burns first. Whoever cauterized your wound knew what they were doing, most of it isn’t burned. There will be significant scarring though.”

I nodded easily, accepting that. I’d expected it. 

“I will remove the dead tissue, clean the wound, and then we will start healing the burns and stitching up what we can.” 

With that the healer began to clean the wound, it was far more sensitive than my shoulder had been. But having alcohol poured over my side had made me used to the pain of my side being poked and prodded.  
The minutes ticked by as the healer cleaned my wound of dead tissue and began to stitch up the salvageable parts. He would periodically rub a thick opaque paste into my wound. I didn’t bother asking what it was for because whenever he applied a new helping of it that area of my side would go a little numb. 

Eventually, the healer packed up his supplies, leaving me with medicines and instructions on how to apply it all correctly. 

He snapped his case shut. My medicine was sitting next to me on the bed. “I will write out all of my instructions for the wound’s care and your maid—” I balked again at the thought of someone being my maid, “will see to it that you follow through with the cleaning regimen. I will be back in three days to check on your progress.” 

I nodded again—my normal routine around someone who knew more than I did. 

The healer’s face became serious as he looked me up and down, at my bones jutting out of my skin. “You need to eat more.”

“I’ve always been skinny.” The healer glared at me. 

“You need to eat more. You need to get to a healthy weight. Your body is healing, and it needs the fuel to repair itself. I will be leaving your maid—” I balked again, “with instructions to pass on to the kitchen. You need to eat a rich diet so that even if you don’t put on weight, your body has access to enough fuel to heal itself.” He glared down his nose at me pointedly and I had to stop myself from shrinking away. The man’s glare was nearly as intimidating as Darius’s glare, which was saying something. 

With my silent nod of agreement he offered me a smile and a handshake before he left, holding the door open for the maid with straw-color hair on his way out. 

“Ma’a—Zoya,” she said. “Is there anything I can get you for dinner? Or before bed?”

“I need clothes, loose and airy tunics and pants.” She nodded. 

“I can do that, we can have a tailor summoned to have our outfitted with dresses whenever you want.” The girl was sweet for the offering. 

“I’ll organize more suitable clothing at some point, but for now it’s best to give my wounds time to breathe.” The girl’s eyes widened at the memory of my side and she nodded quickly. 

“Is there anything I can get you for dinner?” I hesitated and looked out the window where the sky had gone dark. Had the healer really been here that long? His order that I eat a rich diet echoed in my head. 

“Yes—yes there is. Do you know what the cook made tonight?” At least I figured that we now had a cook, no way in hell would my sister or Father cook, the years in the cottage had proved that. 

“Lamb shanks and pork chops for the main course. There’s fresh bread and cucumber soup. There’s mousse for dessert.” I grimaced inwardly. I hated lamb and pork. The cucumber soup could go either way, it depended on how it was made. 

The girl seemed to pick up on my hesitation. “The cook can easily make something else for you if there’s something else you want.” 

“No—no that’s ok. If you could bring up a double serving of the soup, some bread, and a mousse that’d be great.” I fought to hide how my stomach was roiling at the thought of so much food. It was probably how much I ate in a week in Amre if Ankia didn’t drag me out for dinner. 

The girl brightened at being given something to do. “Right away ma’a—Zoya.” She turned to hurry away when—

“I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.” 

“Oh,” she said, seeming surprised that I’d want to know. “My name is Anna ma’a—Zoya.” I smiled softly at her as she stumbled over her words before he hurried out of the room. 

I pulled myself into the bed and stared out the huge windows. Things certainly had changed and I intended to make the best of it.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

I was rudely woken by Anna opening all of the curtains in my room, letting the cold winter sunlight stream in. 

I hissed and hauled my silken covers over my head. Last night had been dreadful. Anna’s only response was a cheerful “Morning ma’a—Zoya.” I heard a soft thump as something was set down on my bedside table and curiosity got the better of me. I stuck out my head and peered through the sun’s glare to a pile of clothes on my bedside table—a loose tunic and pants, exactly what I’d requested. 

I let out a soft moan that had nothing to do with the sun. Dinner had been a living hell, and my stomach was still trying to tie itself in knots. A lifetime of not pushing myself to eat an entire meal was biting me in the ass now that I’d followed the healer’s orders. Halfway through the bowl of cucumber soup—which I hadn’t really liked but had choked down in the name of health—my stomach decided to turn itself inside out. I’d stuck to the bread and mousse after that—hard to go wrong with sugar and bread. My stomach hadn’t objected to sugar and bread, but it did object to being stretched well beyond its capacity. It had stuck me on the floor of the washroom, sweating and trying not to heave. 

I’d gone to bed uncomfortable, and my stomach and wounds weren’t even close to the worse of it. The dreams were horrific. They’d been filled with the swimming images of Feyre disappearing into those night-shrouded woods after that golden monster. The monster’s emerald human eyes haunted me. In the better moments, I was stabbing him, letting his red blood leak out of him. In the worst ones, he was tearing into Feyre. 

Maybe it was because I’d been actively trying to retrieve Feyre before, but these dreams hadn’t cropped up before. I had a haunting feeling that they’d be dogging me for a good long while. My choice to leave The Wall and Feyre were haunting me. My failure was haunting me. 

I shook it off. I’d have time to hate myself later. 

“Would you like anything for breakfast?” Anna questioned as she set down the jars of medicine for my wound. She looked queasy at the thought of seeing my wounds again. 

My stomach adamantly tied itself into another knot as if to say: try and feed me again, I dare you.   
I steeled myself. If I had to go to war in the name of my health and healing, I would do it. “What are today’s options?” 

“There are sausages, eggs, toast with butter or your choice of jam, and fresh fruit. There’s also the option of tea, coffee, juice, or water.” My stomach wrapped itself into another knot as she rattled off the menu. I absently wondered if she practiced the menu every morning to ay it so easily, or if it was simply the same every day. I’d find out tomorrow at breakfast. 

Sausages probably had pork in them, so those were out. My ability to eat eggs depended on the day, in Amre the omelet stands either made my mouth water or my stomach churn. “Toast with butter, fresh fruit, and tea with sugar, no milk.” Milk could go either way, I loved it one day and hated it another. Better not to risk it after last night. 

“Alright ma’a—Zoya, I will fetch it after I help you with your wounds.” The poor girl had squared her shoulders like she was going into battle. I understood, some people just didn’t hold up well around blood and gore, there was no reason to make her suffer. I shook my head at her. 

“I can manage my wounds, go fetch breakfast.” Anna’s shoulder’s slumped in a relief she tried not to show. She wasn’t a good actress. “Please call me if you need help.” Her eyes said the exact opposite. Once I nodded she all but fled the room, closing the door quickly behind her. 

Once she fled the room I easily went through the motions of cleaning my wounds and applying the different pastes in the correct order. My shoulder only needed cleaning and two pastes, but it required a bit of contortion to get the bandage on right. My side needed all four pastes, all applied in the correct order, but I couldn’t complain since at the end of it my burns were pleasantly cool and numb. Once all the bandages were on I slid into my clothes, they fit well, but they were still loose enough not to hurt my side. 

With all of that unpleasantness out of the way, I turned my attention to the letter from Anika. I’d meant to read it over dinner, but that intention had fled me along with the contents of my stomach. I opened the worn envelope with one of the knives from the leather satchel and two letters fell out. One from Darius, one from Anika. 

I decided to read Anika’s first—it wasn’t much of a decision, Anika came first for me by a long shot. 

 

Dear Zoya, 

I swear you need constant supervision. You’re gone for a few days and I get a letter that says you’re planning on hunting down a faerie. I’ll use the money in your hidden stash to hire a babysitter for you and buy alcohol for me. What were you thinking? Is your family so irritating that you decide to escape to the other side of The Wall? I expect a full report on what happened from you. 

On a more serious note, please write me as soon as you get back. I need to hear from you or else my hair will fall out from stress, and that would be a tragedy, my hair is fabulous. 

I’ve found that I miss your glowering presence whenever I go to The Pits to watch the fights (more accurately Darius’s fights, he’s found a cute girl who regularly attends the fights and he’s decided to try and woo her and that he needs help from someone who’s also a girl, so I’ve been roped into his madness). People don’t bother me when I show up with you, you’ve managed to stake me firmly as yours so they’re too scared to look at me, without you they try and talk to me when all I want to do is watch Darius make a fool of himself. It’s exhausting. 

On the topic of Darius, your guy in the eye patch says he’s happy to continue covering your shifts and Adrassy’s brain (Carson) is fine with it as well. So you can fall to your feet in thanks when you see me, I’m a generous god for making sure everything works out for you. 

Regarding money, we aren’t running short on it, since you got that bonus from the fight about a week before you left. If it does start running low, I’ll dig into the tin under the bed. What were you saving all that money for anyway? You usually have a stash in case we end up short on money, but this was a lot more than I expected, what are you up to? 

I’m facing the same problem of running out of paper, so I’ll make this short. I miss you and you better come back to me in one fully-functioning peace. You promised me a lamb dinner when you got back, and I want my lamb. 

Love,   
An Actual Goddess 

 

I snored at her declaration that I needed a babysitter. As if. I need a small army of them if she intended to keep me in line. I smiled at the thought of Darius trying to woo a cute girl, the poor guy was clueless when it came to women, but at least he was aware of it. I smirked at her asking what I’d saved all that money up for, in truth I’d been hoarding for a few months to try and buy her a fire opal necklace that she’d been ogling for a few months. I’d asked the jeweler who was selling a while back to keep a hold of the piece until I could afford it. If I had to choose between her eating and her getting a necklace, I’d go for eating. Besides, now I could buy the necklace easily. 

I set aside her letter and resolved to ask Anna where I could get the stationary to respond to it. I was moving to open Darius’s letter when Anna came in through my door with a tray weighed down by toast, butter, jam, fruit, and tea. So I set aside the letter in favor of choking down more food than I usually saw in a week. 

Anna deposited the tray in front of me on the bed and hustled about my room, putting the medicine back on top of the cabinet. 

“Where is my father’s office?” 

“It’s up one level, go down the hallway to the right and it will be at the end of the hall.” The directions were easy enough to follow. “Thank you, Anna,” I said, a dismissal that she easily picked up on. Once the door closed I pulled the food towards me and my stomach jolted unpleasantly. I sighed and decided to start with the bread. 

Breakfast left me a sweating, bloated mess on the floor of my washroom. Once the feeling that my own stomach would murder me subsided I headed towards Father’s office, down the overly ornate hallways and up a pretty marble flight of stairs. There was no part of the mansion that was not decorated or lacking. My sisters must have had a field day decorating the place. The occasional flower arrangements that seemed to dot the house were no doubt Elain’s doing. The pretty pops of color made the big house seem alive. I needed to find my twin and see how she was doing. No doubt holding up better than Nesta and I, she thought Feyre was off playing house with Aunt Ripleigh. 

I eventually hit an imposing mahogany door, which had been buffed and polished until it shone. I could see my too-skinny reflection in it. My cheekbones jutted out and my near colorless eyes gleamed. For a moment I felt like a little girl, standing outside my father’s office, waiting to be chastised for my latest wrongdoing. Whether it was putting ink in the laundry or flashing one of my stricter tutors a single-fingered rude gesture that I wasn’t supposed to know about. I shook off my inferiority. He was my father and I’d wiped his own ass for him when his knee was healing. I was the Demon, who was a fighter straight out of people’s nightmares. 

I knocked. 

“Enter.” It was my father’s old voice, not the feeble one he’d used for years in that hovel. It was a command from the prince of merchants. A command from a man wholly in charge of the world around him and himself. I bit down on the urge to force myself into perfect posture. 

The office was beautiful in its simplicity, unlike the rest of the house which was gaudy to the extreme. Father hadn’t let my sisters decorate his office, his space. The walls were a plain white, bedecked with large windows to let the light in. There was no opulent gold inlay, only dark wood, and white plaster. There were bookshelves lining the walls, all stuffed full of official-looking, highly boring, leather-bound volumes. 

My father was sat behind a great dark wood desk in the middle of the room which was piled high with stacks of paper. His stormy eyes were sharp and clear, calculating. His hair was cut and styled impeccably and his suit was perfectly tailored. The gold from a pocket watch peeked out of his suit. In short, my father held no outward signs of being the beaten down man he’d been for years. 

He didn’t look up from his work as I approached, but when he did look up his face split into a grin. He hauled himself to his feet as fast as he was able and held out his arms—an open invitation for a hug. I fell into his arms. It was good to have someone I recognized as my father back. The hug was awkward with a desk separating us, but neither of us really minded. When we broke apart Father settled back in his chair and gestured for me to have a seat in front of his desk. 

I slipped into a chair and forced myself not to sit with perfect posture. I wouldn’t in any other situation, so I wouldn’t do it now. I knew that if I was Nesta or my twin I’d be sitting here with my knees and ankles together and my back straight. But I wasn’t them. So I leaned back into my seat and flung a leg over an armrest. My father didn’t bat an eye at me. He was used to me. Half of my behavior was technically his fault anyway since I was half him. 

“Are you healing alright?” He asked, running his eyes over my body, searching for any hint of discontent. I nodded, and he seemed appeased. 

“What do you think of the mansion?” Father questioned as he leaned back in his chair, resting his hands on his lap. It was the equivalent of me sitting naked and sprawled out in front of a large audience of people. 

I briefly considered lying but ultimately decided that I wasn’t going to start sparing people’s feelings just because their money was something I wanted to have access to. “I hate it. It’s far too gaudy,” I said flatly, leaving no room for discussion. Instead of seeming offended Father simply scoffed out a laugh. 

“I know what you mean. It has your sisters written all over it.”

“I assume they had a field day when you let them decorate?” 

Father let out a soft laugh at the memory, his eyes twinkling. “The noise Elain made was inhuman. Every dog in the village likely had a heart attack.” I smirked briefly at the mental image of Elain losing her composure. I took a shaky breath and braced myself for the next bit of conversation. 

“I’m not just here to let you know I’m alright.” Father quirked an eyebrow but said nothing, simply bidding that I continue with a hand gesture. “I want you to let me work with you in managing the family’s finances and trading. I want you to teach me how to manage a business and money.” 

Whatever my father had been expecting, it wasn’t that. He blinked slowly and assessed me with merchant’s eyes, sizing up my worth. “Why?” A simple, but weighted question. 

I hesitated. “Because Nesta will inherit the majority of the family fortune and she has no idea how to treat it. People who spend money on frivolous things tend not to have money for long, and that is exactly what Nesta and Elain will do. I don’t just want to inherit part of your fortune, I want to learn how to manage and grow it, so I don’t spend the rest of my life looking at a dwindling bank account. I’m never going to marry some rich lord-ling because I refuse to become a pretty little broodmare and I refuse to hand what would be my money over to someone.” Never mind that I’d already found someone I’d like to keep in my life for the rest of my life. “I want to learn to manage money and a business because I need a driving force in my life that is interesting and wholly mine. I refuse to rely on other people or trust them with what is mine.” 

My father sat back during my rant, absorbing it. There were a few beats of silence as he examined me and then sighed. 

“I will teach you, and I will let you help me manage the fortune.” My heart swelled. “If you prove yourself worthy—and only if you prove yourself worthy, I will let you start to invest our money and you can set aside half the profit in your own bank account.” It was hard not to combust on the spot. This was better than what I’d been hoping for—which had honestly just been access to our books. I didn’t expect to be allowed to manage money, just to watch and learn. Flashes of my childhood dream—to de the queen of merchants—danced in front of my eyes. Some little part of me felt like weeping, my dream was still attainable. 

I didn’t let my emotion show, I simply met my father’s eyes and nodded firmly, “I won’t let you down,” I promised. 

The prince of merchants looked back at me, “you better not.” 

The weight of that expectation settled onto my shoulders—I tested the feel and found that I liked it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave kudos or a comment to let me know what you think of the story.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

I needed to escape. I needed to get out of this godsforsaken mansion by four in the afternoon. 

I’d spent the morning trying not to rip my hair out when Gale said one of the wheels on his wagons had cracked and needed repairing. Even with the weight my family name now pulled the wheel wouldn’t be fixed until tomorrow morning. 

I’d even annoyed the living hell out of my healer to have him give me permission to travel to Amre to escape what was coming. I’d long since replied to Anika and Darius’s letters so it wasn’t like my popping up in Amre would be a surprise.

Anika now knew I was on the mend from a few wounds and would be home in a week or two. I hadn’t really responded to Darius’s letter since his letter had simply been a two-page worship manifesto of the new cute girl he had his eyes on.   
But my desire to get back to the winding, disgusting streets of Amre that had every form of filth except the type I liked was rooted in more than my desire to see my friends again and escape my sisters. 

I had a much more important reason to escape the mansion: a party. 

I didn’t object to the parties in Amre, which were complete with hard liquor and more people than a room could reasonably fit and loud music. The people you met there were fun and interesting and probably a hazard to public health. But they didn’t give a single shit about how you dressed or acted. I could have Anika in one hand and a bottle of something strong enough to strip paint and no one would bat an eye. Here if someone saw a woman with another woman on her arm they’d probably simply combust on the spot. 

It was the parties where the women dressed up in tulle monstrosities and tittered about the rich, snobby, little lord-lings who sipped wine and called it “hard liquor” that I hated. 

Suffice to say the party Elain had dragged Nesta into planning was the type of party I found tedious. 

With over a hundred well-to-do guests in attendance, I hadn’t seen Anna since lunchtime yesterday. She and every other servant we had was dancing to Elain and Nesta’s whims as they demanded more flower arrangements and changed their minds constantly on the food that would be served. 

Because I was now keeping the family books I knew that around 3,000 marks had been effectively thrown out the window by my sisters purchasing things and then deciding that they wanted something else. I’d returned the things my sisters didn’t like and turned the money into a bonus for the servants and extra help we brought on board for the party. The poor bastards were being worked to the bone. 

But as I sat behind a desk in Father’s office, working quietly to compile the family’ expenses, I had to watch the minutes tick by on my copper pocket watch. The watch was battered and scratched, but it had been mine for years, so I would keep it. No point in getting a new one when this one worked just fine. Every minute brought me closer to four in the afternoon. Closer to when Anna would drag me off to prepare me for the party. I grimaced at the thought. If you couldn’t roll up to a party in rags and still have a good time, what was the point? 

At least I wasn’t wearing a dress. Elain had tried to talk me into it and even brought in a seamstress to try and get me into a dress. The memory still sent a shiver down my spine. 

The infernal woman came swooping into my room at the crack of dawn in a cloud of horrendous perfume with a rack full of tulle monstrosities. The only good thing about her arrival was that she had woken me up from another nightmare which had been a never-ending compilation of the monster tearing into Feyre in different ways. 

The woman had clearly been expecting another classic Archeron sister with soft curves and golden-brown hair. Instead, she got me. It had been almost amusing to watch her flounder at my slip-thin body, sharp face, and eerie eyes. Almost. There was something disheartening about managing to crush someone’s dreams with my appearance. But after a few spluttered and shame-faced apologies at her incredulous comment of, “YOU’RE Elain’s twin?” She got on with her work, or rather, my humiliation. The only person I agreed to let in the room was Anna because I’d rather she help me into the dresses than the seamstress with the inch-long painted claws. 

My mind settled on the memory of the last dress. She’d tried and failed spectacularly to sell it to me. The seamstress had whirled out the tulle and chiffon monstrosity while cooing about what a lovely piece it was. “It will accentuate what you have—” she claimed, and I’d glanced down at my chest, all I had was ribs, “—and hide everything around your stomach that you don’t like—” She’d trailed off, seemingly realizing that she was trying to sell someone who was essentially a skeleton a slimming dress. If I managed to gain any weight I’d stick it on display out of pride. Even with the healer’s orders of stuffing myself, and my compliance with those orders despite the fact they left me trembling on the floor, it didn’t look like I’d gained a single pound. 

Anna had plastered herself to the far corner of my room, red in the face and with her fist stuffed in her mouth to smother her giggles. I’d mouthed “SHUT UP” at her, but all she’d done was double over with a small choking noise.   
It was when I asked the seamstress if she had ANYTHING else, for what must have been the hundredth time that she gave up and packed her items away without another word. 

I’d escaped to the office and shoved my face into a pile of receipts to avoid my sisters coming after me for sending away their favorite seamstress in a huff. Somehow, they still weren’t aware of the fact that I was now effectively managing the family’s finances, and as a result, they didn’t know to look for me in Father’s office. 

I grinned as I found a receipt for some good hard liquor. I’d bought it and I’d be sticking it at the drinks bar for the party. While everyone else would be delicately sipping their wine and getting a little drowsy, I fully intended to chug down a bottle or two and use my public drunkenness as a way to escape the party. 

I’d been immersed in the idea of getting drunk and embarrassing Nesta when I was tapped lightly on the shoulder. Dread settled into the pit of my stomach and I looked up—it was Anna, and she was grinning. I glanced down at my pocket watch—it read four in the afternoon. I was doomed. I couldn’t even use my wounds as an excuse not to come anymore since the healer had declared me fit for travel. 

Father glanced up from his desk as Anna began to haul me out of the room by my wrists while I dug my heels into the carpet, looking every inch the petulant toddler I was. My last view of the office was Father giving me a cheerful wave as I mouthed “HELP ME” furiously at him while Anna cackled madly. 

She’d slammed me down into a chair in my room and placed me in front of a mirror with a grin. I looked just as bad as I normally did, but now I had dark circles under my eyes, courtesy of my nightmares. 

Anna spent the next hour plucking and cleaning me to perfection. My normally lank hair had been polished and brushed until it shone. Anna had then pulled it up into an elaborate knot on top of my head. I didn’t know how she managed it, but I did know that my hair felt like it was being pulled free from my scalp. 

Next up was makeup, a concept I wasn’t unfamiliar with. I usually just tied my hair back and forgot it existed until Anika decided to run her hands through it, but in my days as a clerk and my early days under Adrasssy I’d made my face look good when I went into work. I’d eventually stopped spending money on makeup, I didn’t need it and money was tight. But I enjoyed how fiddly it could be and when I had access to it I usually wore it in some capacity. 

I’d always been good and makeup, not the type that was acceptable here though, I was good at dark, dramatic eyes and dark lips. Not the natural or pretty broodmare look women up here in these circles went for. Anna, however, was. She’d left my face without its dark circles and scars, and lined my eyes and darkened my lashes, making my eyes stand out more than they normally did. 

All in all, I looked better, but I still didn’t look like what high-class people would consider “good.” Frankly, I couldn’t bring myself to care, I had alcohol waiting for me downstairs and that would make everything better.   
I slid into a crisp white shirt, a dark red vest, and then a black blazer. All were simple but clearly well-made. My form-fitting black pants had been specially tailored to accommodate my lack of an ass. I slid into a set of black heels, something else I was good at thanks to my clerking days. The heels bumped me up to an average height, which was nice. Unfortunately, everyone who naturally had an average height would also be wearing heels, so I’d still look stunted.

Of course, I was cursed with the only short genes in my family. 

“You don’t clean up too badly,” Anna commented as she straightened my suit lapels. 

“I think you did most of the cleaning up. Besides, if it was up to me I’d be going to this party in a tunic and pants and no shoes.” Anna snorted at the image of me effectively strolling up to a prestigious party in my pajamas. I looked up at her as she did the finishing touches on my hair. “It’s not too late for us to swap clothes. You can go dance with some puffed up ponce and I’ll cart around food for people. Or I’ll just take a tray of food and hide in the library.”  
“I think your sisters would notice.” \

“No…well, yes, they would. But they wouldn’t make a scene about you being an imposter. Besides, for all they know, I’ve drunk myself under the bar and you’re just some well-to-do lady around here.” 

Anna rolled her eyes at me, a habit I’d given her. “I think your sisters know who they invited.” I shrugged. “If you run the other direction from Nesta no one will question it because she’s Nesta, and who wouldn’t run the other direction? You won’t have to run from Elain because she’ll be busy with every man in the room courting her.” 

Anna just shook her head at me. “I think I’ll have a better time handing out food and watching you suffer than I would if I dressed up and spent the evening paranoid that I’d be kicked out of the house.” A valid point. I could keep Anna employed here, no matter how pissed my sisters got I was effectively running the household at this point. That being said, a stunt like the one I was suggesting could also make her coworkers mad at her, making life hard for her. 

Anna dabbed some more paint on my lips, they were the one part that had been done in a style I liked as they’d been painted blood red. Nesta would say I looked like a harlot but I wouldn’t care once I’d gotten enough alcohol into my system. What were parties for if not to drink? 

My pocket watch read half past seven when Anna sent me down the stairs with a cheery wave. It felt like I was walking to the gallows. Each step brought me closer to the tedious orchestral music that was playing from the ballroom.

I passed by ladies dressed in their big, colorful dresses with enough details to make my head spin. There were men there too, dressed to the nines in suits that were cut in an effort to make their shoulders seem bigger. My suit wasn’t cut in such a fashion, it was a collection of sharp lines and tailored edges, all designed to highlight the good parts of my lean body. They didn’t even spare me a glance, I wasn’t wearing enough color to draw attention to myself. 

Elain was holding court on the far end of the ballroom, with a dozen men crowded around her fighting for her attention. I could tell she was enjoying it although she would deny that to her dying day. There was a pretty flush in her cheeks and neck as each one of the men battled to kiss her hand in greeting. It looked like a very civilized feeding frenzy. 

Nesta was in much the same situation, except the men around her weren’t crowding her or asking for her hand to kiss. They were walking on eggshells, unsure if they were welcome or not. They themselves probably weren’t welcome, but their attention was if the gleam in Nesta’s eye was anything to go by. I scanned the room and my eyes fell on Father, who was surrounded by a knot of stately looking older men, all laughing and to my surprise, holding a glass of the strong alcohol I ordered. Of course, my kindred spirits were wealthy men in the second half of their lives. 

But I ignored all the groups in favor of what this party was about: the bar. 

I slid onto a high leather barstool and winked at the barman who winked back. I’d told him ahead of time to just mainline the stronger stuff to me as long as I could speak in complete sentences and stand. True to his promise, in seconds there was a glass of amber liquid in front of me with no ice. 

I sipped it absently and enjoyed the smooth way it went down. It was definitely strong enough to strip paint, but it went down nice. 

I looked down the bar and realized that I’d pulled myself in next to an occupied seat. There was a young man sitting next to me. He was tall with a strong build, I would have pegged him for a fighter in Amre if his hands had been calloused. I craned my neck to look at his face, he had brown hair and blue eyes. He had a look on his face that was somewhat akin to a kicked puppy. He was nothing remarkable, but overall his face wasn’t awful to look at. I wasn’t the best judge about that sort of thing though, I didn’t go for men. 

He noticed me staring but instead of seeming unsettled at finding someone gawking up at him he simply smiled and offered his hand, which I took. I’d expected a shake but instead, he pressed a kiss against my knuckles. Rich people were strange folk. 

“You must be new around here, I haven’t seen you before.” His voice wasn’t anything remarkable either, but there was a friendly quality to it, he wasn’t mocking me in any way. 

“I spend most of the year down in Amre.” Not a lie, just not the whole truth. He nodded in understanding. “Is your father a merchant?” 

I nodded affirmatively and took another swig of my drink. Also not a lie, just not the reason I was in Amre most of the year. “What’s your name?” I asked, deciding that as long as I had a source of entertainment available, I’d use it. 

“Graysen,” he said with an easy smile that probably made most women swoon. Didn’t and would never work on me. I’d never heard of him but I didn’t let it show. I simply nodded and easily lied. “Yes, I’ve heard about your father.”

“Most people have. He’s simultaneously respected and viewed as a slight basket case.” I shrugged, I was curious but unwilling to admit that I had no idea who he was. “All the best people are slight basket cases.” 

There was a lapse of silence as Graysen let his eyes scan the party and I took the opportunity to signal to the bartender and have my glass topped up. When I looked back from my glass I noticed precisely where Graysen was staring.   
“You’re interested in Elain Archeron?” Graysen perked up immediately. 

“Do you know her?” I had to clamp down to stop a laugh. I wondered how he’d react if he knew she was my twin. I glanced over to where my sister was being swarmed and smirked as I caught her eye. I gave her a cheerful wave and smile, I didn’t even need the alcohol to fake it, the look on Graysen’s face would be priceless, and then I gave her quick beckoning motion with my hand. Graysen looked well and truly alarmed as I dared to order one of the hosts around, but his jaw hit the floor when my twin came floating towards us, completely abandoning her pool of suitors. 

Elain bounded towards me with her arms open and I gave her an obliging hug. Her eyes sparkled cheerfully as she looked around at the party and at me. “You put on makeup!” 

“You don’t need to sound surprised,” I muttered, wringing a grin from her. Graysen had lost his kicked-puppy look and he was now holding himself up and puffing out his chest. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Men. Thank the gods I wasn’t attracted to them. Then again, I couldn’t judge, I did the same thing around Anika. 

“Who is this?” Elain asked, craning her neck to look at Graysen the same way I had. The guy was too tall for my taste. Graysen all but flung his chest out and took Elain’s hand, placing a kiss on it. Rich people really were strange. 

I decided to answer for Graysen since he seemed enamored with my sister’s eyes. “This is Graysen, his father is the basket case.” Graysen’s eyes shot to me and glared, hard. I just smiled and swigged my drink. 

Elain just laughed her delicate laugh. “I’m sure that’s not true,” she said kindly, smiling up at Graysen. My eyebrows shot up. Maybe the infatuation wasn’t one-sided. At least if Graysen had been invited to the party he was rich enough to appease Nesta if it ever became serious. 

“Why do people say your father is a basket case?” Elain asked, curiosity brimming in her eyes. 

“I once heard about a guy who rolled around in apple syrup before—” 

Graysen shut me up with a look. “It’s nothing to do with apple syrup. It’s to do with faeries.” 

My spine went stiff and my alcohol suddenly didn’t seem all that important. Elain simply nodded. “This close to The Wall it’s a common concern and understandable.” Graysen seemed to loose a breath when Elain didn’t laugh. 

A “common concern” was an understatement. Half the people up here were crazy with their faerie-paranoia. I’d thought it was all bullshit for the longest time. That was until Feyre killed one and was taken captive by another. That was until I fought six of them in the woods. 

“What does your father do that qualifies him as a basket-case more than the rest of us?” Graysen didn’t seem to appreciate my line of questioning, but Elain looked curious too, which was probably the only reason he answered. 

“He plants groves of ash trees and he has an entire armory full of iron.” I didn’t know if iron worked against them, Nesta and Elain’s bracelets hadn’t done much against the golden monster, but those were bracelets, not weapons. I knew that ash worked, Feyre killed a faerie with an ash arrow, so had the mercenary. 

But something in Graysen’s tone made me pause. “You don’t disagree with his measures?” 

Graysen looked up from whatever Elain had just said to make him smile, and the smile vanished. “No, I don’t. Some of my father’s old friends have said that there’s been more faerie activity for the last fifty years. There have been more human deaths because of the activity. They are praying on us, and we need to be prepared to defend ourselves.” 

A vision of Feyre disappearing into night-shrouded woods with a golden monster flashed behind my eyes. 

“Those faeries would kill us without a second thought. We should treat them the same.” 

Elain didn’t seem at all disturbed by Graysen’s infatuation with killing faeries. Good. A part of me shared that infatuation. But reasonably, not all faeries could be evil or awful to us, a great deal of them fought on our side during The War. 

One of my better dreams popped into my head: running a stake through the golden monster's chest. 

I leaned forward, grabbing Graysen’s attention. “What would it take for me to persuade your father to sell us an ash tree or two?”


	15. Chapter Fifteen

Amre was a breath of fresh air, which was ironic considering that the place smelled like piss constantly. 

My four-day journey with Gale flew by. Gale sang bawdy, lewd, songs and I joined in when I knew the verses. We sounded horrendous. Neither of us could carry a tune with in a bucket with a lid, but it was good fun. The “docks” had been their usual shit show and Gale navigated them like any other trader: swearing at the top of his lungs. I’d given him a brief hug as a farewell and a sack of money that was considerably heavier than it had been in recent years. 

As I navigated the streets I couldn’t stop a grin from working its way onto my face. I hadn’t realized how suffocating the mansion had been until I was free of it. The only improvement to the mansion had been a guest bedroom which had recently been converted into an office for me, and the two ash trees sitting happily in our backyard. 

After a strip tease where I showed Lord Nolan my scars he’d been happy to send me off with two trees for a reasonably high price. Graysen had been surprised that I’d gotten his father to give up the trees and asked me how I’d done it. My answer of “womanly charms” and lewdly bobbing my eyebrows left him slightly green. 

The Vye was dotted with its usual vendors and horse-drawn vehicles. The artist’s district passed by on my right, still bleeding music and color. But instead of the comforting feeling that curled in my gut when I used to pass the place, my gut clenched unpleasantly. Feyre would never be able to see this place. 

I let myself stew in the feeling as I descended down into the red-light district. The people here were clutching firmly to their purses and eyeing anyone and everyone. The girls on the sides of the street were wearing plunging necklines despite the bitter cold. Some tension left my shoulders as the people and district passed by. The area wasn’t pleasant, but I was used to it and comfortable in it. 

Burstrat Street was the same as ever, and my staircase was missing another step or two. My home was the same, with my ornery door screaming as I forced it open. The same crumbling brick. The same wooden floor. The same pails to catch the same leaks. I dumped my travel sack at the foot of my bed. Anika was nowhere to be found, meaning that she was either at work or at The Pits. 

I grabbed a sack of money and relished the weight of it before disappearing out the door. Deeper inside the district the bouncers, most of them fighters in some capacity, nodded respectfully to me as I stalked past. One or two working girls that I recognized form The Palace did the same. It felt good to be recognized and respected. It felt good to be around people who knew a side of me that went unacknowledged by my family, Feyre included. The exception was Nesta. Nesta knew I was a fighter, but even she didn’t understand the full scope of what I was capable of. 

I came to a stop in front of a three-story establishment with a large sign that read “The Menagerie.” There were large windows lining the walls, letting people see inside. There was a good crowd of people who just stopped to stare at the spectacle. There was a band in a far corner and a large bar, but most importantly there were women and some men dancing on the tables inside wearing nothing but scraps. Anika was usually one of those dancers, but I couldn’t see her through the window. 

There were two muscle-bound bouncers standing outside of the building. One was a woman with a shaved head, the other was a young man no older than eighteen with green eyes. I recognized the woman vaguely, she was a junior fighter. I rolled my shoulders and swaggered up to them. 

The boy sneered down at me. “Sorry, we don’t let children into The Menagerie.” I ignored him and turned to the woman.  
“Is Anika working tonight?” I asked, the music pouring out of The Menagerie’s open doors forcing me to raise my voice to a near-shout. 

“Who?” The boy broke in. He was new if he didn’t know who she was. 

“She’s the leopard,” the woman supplied. It was an effort not to roll my eyes at the reminder. Somewhere along the line, the owner of The Menagerie came up with the bright idea that each girl should be some animal to make her more alluring. I thought it was bullshit but the rich people the place catered to seemed to love the idea. 

It was an effort not to immediately smash the boy’s teeth in when he grinned sleazily at the thought of her. “Oh yeah, she’s a sexy little thing.” My rage hit a boiling point. This was the only problem I had with Anika’s work, people objectified her and decided to view her as some cute little sex doll when in reality her thighs were strong enough to pop a head clean off its shoulders and she could list every queen off since the dawn of time without half a thought.  
The man bent down to my height, going so far as to rest his hands on his knees. “Are you some fucking stalker? Because there’s no way in hell the leopard would want to be around someone like you.” My back went ramrod straight and my face fixed itself into a near-perfect imitation of Nesta’s sneer. 

“Someone like me?” My voice had gone soft. 

“Yeah,” sneered the boy, “are you not aware of the fact that you’re an ugly little cunt?” The man grinned when he saw my shaking hands, mistaking them for being a product of fear. 

“Jameson…” the woman tried to break in, her eyes wide as she took me in. I grinned madly. She recognized me. 

“Shut up!” Jameson snapped. A fatal mistake. 

“You should listen to her,” I hissed softly up at him. The boy puffed himself up obnoxiously. 

“Was that a threat you little bitch? You have the audacity to threaten me?” He was progressively getting more and more irritating and a small crowd had gathered to watch the altercation. It was made mostly of other bouncers and a few tourists. I knew most of the bouncers and they knew me, they were all standing there with shit-eating grins waiting for the boy’s teeth to get knocked in. Who was I to deny them or myself the pleasure?

The woman was looking progressively more concerned about her colleague’s health. 

“From what I hear the leopard girl is going stead with the Demon, and I’m a pretty good fighter myself. So…” the boy prodded me in the chest with a finger, “you’d best scurry along you little bitch.”

I rolled my eyes. “Did your mother ever teach you manners?” As the boy opened his mouth to answer my fist seemed to decide that it had had enough of his bullshit. 

He was cut off by my fist slamming itself through his teeth. He hit the floor, curled up in a ball, spitting out blood and one or two teeth, it was hard to tell in the poor lighting.

I shook my hand off with a tiny groan. Note to self: don’t punch people in the teeth, it fucking hurts. 

As he peeled himself off the street, clothes dripping with who-knows-what, I slammed the heel of my boot into his back, right over his kidney. He slammed onto the ground again, frantically spluttering for air. Pathetic. Fortunately, he at least had the god sense not to open his mouth again as he scrambled to his feet. 

Unfortunately, he had the terrible sense to square up like he was entering a fighting ring. I gave him a cursory glance, his stance was all wrong, and his legs were spread too far apart. That made my life easier, and I swung my leg forwards.  
The boy hit the ground again, howling and clutching what I imagined must be a micropenis. 

I dismissed him and turned to the woman. “Is Anika working tonight?”

She instantly shook her head. “No. No, she’s not.” At least she had some common sense. 

I turned on my heel and walked away through the small crowd, most of whom were laughing at the boy. The streets winded and became narrower as I approached The Pits. 

From the outside, were it not for the long line of people waiting to be allowed in, it would be hard to guess that this was the heart of the red-light district. It looked like a normal building from the street up, and it was. The owners of The Pits lived there. The real fun was down below in the basement. 

There were three bouncers standing guard and checking people as they went in. There were no weapons allowed, only your fists and legs. I’d found the bouncers scary the first time I’d visited, now I knew their names and occasionally went out drinking with them. 

From left to right there was Pam, a glamorous lean-muscled blonde woman who’d recently had her first child, a sweet little girl named Lucy. Then there was Lafayette, his skin was a deep brown and he was quite possibly the most over the top person I’d ever met as his usual wardrobe consisted of sequins. Lastly there was Ilse, I’d had a severe crush on her for my first year in Amre, her strong curvy stature and hazel eyes had been an ongoing infatuation. Thankfully that had ended. Ilse was one of the few fighters who was married, her husband was an accountant. 

I bypassed the line of people clamoring to get in for a night of fighting and gambling. A few of the tourists screams at me to get in line like the rest of them. Peasants. Anyone who frequented The Pits got the hell out of my way, letting me to the front of the line. 

I gave them a jaunty wave as I walked in and they all offered smiles in return, Lafayette going so far as to call out, “hey hooker.” I took no offence, Lafayette called everyone hooker except for actual hookers. I entered the fighting hall, and like everything else in the red-light district, it hadn’t changed. 

The hall was light by braziers which lined the walls. There had been a barfight that had ended with a man’s face held in the fire and melted. I’d kept a healthy distance from them ever since. The fire and hot metal made my side twinge painfully at the memory of being cauterized. I’d be keeping an even greater distance now. 

The stone floors were coated in their usual filth. The piles of blood and vomit giving the place its signature aroma. I walked through them with no heed for my boots, they could be cleaned but there was no point in doing that considering the fact that I was going to have to walk to my house through the district. The bar in the far corner of the room. It was swarmed with people and serving watered down alcohol as per usual.

There was a staircase in the far corner of the room which lead up to a walkway encircling the entirety of the room. There were rooms up there with ragged curtains that served as doors where working girls and boys offered their services. But the other rooms were where Anika would be, they were reserved for fighters and their family. If I didn’t get Anika up there, Darius would since he and I usually shared a room. But the purpose of the walkway was to offer the fighters and the VIPs and uninterrupted and safe view into the room’s centerpiece: the pit. 

It was large and circular with a twenty-foot diameter and a sandy floor that was permanently stained red. The pit was aptly named at it was a ten-foot drop to get down into it and there was no railing to prevent spectators from falling in. If you fell in, you were fair game. There was the normal roaring and roiling crowd surrounding the pit but there was no chanting going on and money was changing hands, a fight had just ended, and people were raking in on their bets, or paying up. 

The night was still young, and the mob wasn’t as large as normal, so it was safe to assume the only people entering the fighters were amateurs still. It would be early in the morning when the senior fighters finally ventured in. 

But I wasn’t here for the fighting, as much as my bones urged me to hop down into the ring and sink my fists into something. I wouldn’t have been able to fight even if the sole purpose of my visit wasn’t to find Anika, my side was still healing and painful. 

A glance at the walkway told me that Anika wasn’t up there, she’d move there later in the night when the crowd got rowdier. She was perfectly happy to battle a crowd, but falling into the fight wasn’t something she was keen on. 

My eyes scanned the crowd and fixed on a head of curly honey-golden hair. My stomach did backflips. The woman was wearing short sleeves, showing off a dark birthmark on her right elbow that vaguely resembled a bow. 

Anika looked gorgeous in her black flowy dress, her jacket was tied around her waist. She was talking to Darius, waving her hands around animatedly. She had a half-empty cup of watered-down alcohol in one of her hands.

She was absolutely gorgeous. I held myself a little better and let my hips shift more as I walked. 

I walked up behind her and when Darius turned around to shout for another pint. 

I looped my arm around her waist. 

“Hello, darl—” 

I was cut off by her head slamming back into my nose. 

“Fucking hell!” 

Pain radiated through my head and blood was dripping out of my nose. Anika whirled around with her fists raised the way I taught her to. Her jaw dropped as she looked at me. 

“Zoya?” 

“No shit,” I muttered, gently cradling my nose as blood dripped down my face. It had been a good hit. 

The next thing I knew her arms were wrapped tightly around me. “I missed you,” she murmured into my neck. 

I just grinned cheekily despite the pain. “No kiss?” I asked, letting the blood run down my face.

Anika just gave me THE LOOK. “Maybe later.” She held my face and examined my nose. “Not broken,” she decreed before sliding under my arm. I resisted the urge to purr as she slid next to me, the familiarity of the movement made my heart swoop. I grabbed my nose below the bone to stop the bleeding. 

“How have things been around here?” I asked as Darius started wading through the crowd towards the bar. He’d end up in a fight tonight but not by choice, he’d just end up drunk and falling into the ring. 

“Quiet,” she supplied, eyeing a fighter who was slipping into a ring. He had flaming red hair and a lot of bravado. “I told you about Darius’s lady love, right?” She purred, eyes gleaming in amusement. 

I grinned in turn and nodded. “Where is this lovely lady?” Anika just pointed at a brown-haired girl behind the bar. I sized her up. She definitely wasn’t a fighter, just a bartender. In a way, she was cute, about my height and freckled she seemed like a decent human as she seemed to be watering down peoples’ drinks less than normal. 

“He’s gone for worse.” 

“Are you referring to the one tried to talk him into marriage after a week of dating or the one who joined the Children of the Blessed?” 

“I was actually thinking of the one that set his clothes on fire after he ended it, but those ones are good examples too.” 

Anika snorted and shook her head. “He really does have awful taste sometimes.”

“Or just terrible luck.” 

“Not everyone can be as awesome as us.” Anika nodded and tossed her hair. 

“We are exceptional.” 

Darius was puffing out his chest and ordering a drink. “What do you think he’s ordering?” I mused. “And do you think he’ll let me have some?” 

“He’s been mainlining whiskey all night.” 

“Fantastic. If I get it off of him do you want any?”

Anika shook her head. “I don’t like whiskey.”

“Why not?”

“I tried it once and it made me feel weird,” she answered, watching Darius get his drink and smile at the girl gratefully. She completely missed it since fifteen other people were clamoring for alcohol. 

“That’s how you know it’s working,” I muttered, watching Darius wade back towards us, already downing a substantial amount of the drink. “Is he downing that because it will help him get back to the bar faster or because he’s trying to forget whatever he just told her?”

Anika frowned and considered. “Probably a combination of the two. He’s hoping that if he drinks it fast enough he’ll forget what embarrassing thing he said to her, so he can go back and say more stupid things.” She was wise. 

By the time Darius reached us he’d chugged half the glass. “Zoya?” 

“No,” I deadpanned. Darius just grinned. 

“It’s good to see you again, I was worried that you were going to forget us while you swam in all that money your family got.” 

“I can’t swim.” 

Darius seemed completely unbothered by that issue. “You could try,” he supplied as he took another swig of the whiskey. “What happened to your nose?” 

“I’m not answering that.” 

“I am,” Anika broke in, “I headbutted her.” Darius grinned and held up his hand for a high five which Anika happily gave.

“Nice.”

I rolled my eyes. “It’s nice to know that you care about my health.” Darius just smiled and swigged his drink again. “How’s it going with the new girl?”

Darius narrowed his eyes at me. “Don’t call her the ‘new girl.’”

“Why not? There’s a new one each month.” 

“It’s going terribly, thanks for asking,” Darius gritted out. “She won’t even look at me.” 

“Not surprising considering that she has fifteen other people around her requesting her attention.” Anika snorted into her drink. 

Darius just sighed. “I’m getting nowhere with her.” 

Anika refrained from rolling her eyes, I wasn’t as nice. “Have you considered trying to talk to her instead of just staring longingly?” 

Darius’s hands clenched into fists. “I’m going to fight tonight.” 

“Big surprise,” muttered Anika, finishing off her drink. “He’s fought every night that she’s here.” 

“Wow, I didn’t even do that for you.” Anika rolled her eyes. 

“No, the first time I met you, you were drunk as hell and challenging one of the bouncers outside of The Menagerie.”

I nodded dreamily. “It was such a wonderful night. Too bad I can’t remember any of it.” 

“You’re lucky I take pity on you.” She wasn’t wrong. 

I’d opened my mouth to respond when a huge roar went up from the crowd. A challenger had jumped in. The announced roared that they were both junior fighters and money began changing hands as people placed bets. 

There was one man with a slim but lean build and mismatched eyes. The other was a woman with raven-black hair and a scar on her upper lip. 

I leaned over to Anika, Darius was busy placing a bet on the woman with a bearded man, “If the man wins, you give me a kiss. If the woman wins, we go out and get a lamb dinner.” Anika grinned at the thought of a lamb dinner. “Deal.” 

She’d get the lamb dinner either way, this was a win-win situation. 

It was an uneven match. The man was strong, but he lacked smarts and speed. The woman beat him to a bloody pulp on the floor much to Darius and Anika’s pleasure. Anika turned to me her eyes gleaming as Darius raced off to the bar and bartender with his winnings to get another drink. “Do you want to get out of here?” I asked, no longer clamping down on my nose, the bleeding had stopped during the fight. 

Anika gave me a look that clearly said: are you fucking kidding me? 

“I’m not kissing you with that blood on your face.” 

“I was thinking more about that lamb dinner I owe you and less about getting you into bed.” Lie. Anika gave me a look that told me she knew it was a lie too. 

“Are you proposing that we abandon Darius?” 

“Yeah,” I said easily. “He won’t even notice we’re gone, not with that new bartender around.” 

Anika grinned at me. “Alright, where do you want to go for my lamb dinner?” 

“Your lamb dinner, you choose.” The truth was I had no idea where the good lamb in this city was considering that I hated the damn meat. But with my family’s money, I could get more than one dish now. Anika could get her lamb and I could get a nice steak. 

“Am I allowed to work your money to my advantage?” 

“Only if that earns me the official title of ‘sugar daddy.’” Anika gagged. 

“Let’s go to Borrone’s in the artist’s district.” 

I grinned. The place was one of the few places in the world that managed to make food that I enjoyed. I let Anika get out from under my arm and I grabbed her hand, all but hauling her out of The Pits. Darius was still by the bar, taking his sweet time to order another whiskey. 

We passed by the bouncers again, Lafayette and Pam both wolf-whistling at the sight of the two of us hauling ass. Anika burst out laughing at their antics and I just waggled my eyebrows lewdly at them. 

We all but charged out of the red-light district, flying past The Menagerie where there was now only the woman with the shaved head standing guard. Anika noticed. 

“There’s usually two bouncers out front.”

I cleared my throat out awkwardly. “I may or may not have punched one in the face and balls.” Anika looked at me incredulously. “What did you do that for?”

“It was this young man with green eyes and he—” 

Anika held her hand for me to shut up. “Say no more, he’s an asshole and I don’t want to know.” That mad me raise an eyebrow. “What did he do?” 

“Nothing to me, he knew I was going steady with the Demon,” Anika grinned and gently bumped her hip into mine. “But he’s tried to take advantage of a few of the other, younger, girls.” 

Rage coiled in my gut. He deserved worse than I gave him. 

“If he does anything let me know.” Anika knew better than to refuse, knowing that it wouldn’t deter me. Or she hated the guy enough to nod and agree. 

Borrone’s was in the middle of the artist’s district, with some fanciful outdoor seating that was lit up by paper lanterns. I got a few strange looks for the blood on my shirt, there was no blood on face after Anika helped me scrub it off after I pointed out that I may not be let into the restaurant. 

I looked longingly at the outdoor seating, it was too cold to sit outside but it would be nice to take Anika here again in the warmer months. 

We got a secluded seat in the back of the room with a window to look out onto the street. Anika immediately ordered a cider and honey roast lamb whereas I asked for a beef wellington. They were supposed to be amazing, but I’d never been able to dream of affording one. We also ordered a spiced mulled wine. 

Anika gave me a concerned look. “Are you alright?” Before I could respond she immediately amended her question. “I know you can’t really be alright after everything that happened with the faeries and with Feyre. But you seem very down at the moment and you haven’t been sleeping well. I can tell from the dark circles under your eyes.”

“I’m worried about Feyre, constantly. I know what a lot of faeries are capable of and I’m worried about her being exposed to that. Reasonably, I know that she will likely have the situation well in hand, but it still scares me that she might not be alright. I told you about the serpentine monsters that I met in the woods?” 

Anika nodded, letting me vent. 

“It doesn’t stop bothering me that something like that could be tearing into her, hurting her. I’m having nightmares about it, I’m lucky if I sleep through the night. It is just really wearing me down. And I’ll see things that I know Feyre would love that now she may never get to see…” 

“Like the artist’s district?” 

“Like the artist’s district. She would have loved it and been right at home.” I smiled briefly at the thought of Feyre wandering the colored streets. “She probably would have had a bit of an imposter’s syndrome, worrying that she’s not good enough, but she really is a fantastic artist.” 

Anika smiled. “I would love to meet her. Do you have any of her paintings?” 

I shook my head. “She only really got the chance to paint things on things in our old cottage. Elain bought her paints one summer when there was money to spare.” I paused, an idea surfacing. 

“That’s your scheming face, what are you thinking about?” 

“It wouldn’t be too hard to remove the wooden surfaces that her paintings are on and transport them down here. It wouldn’t be hard at all anymore to pay for Eric to tattoo one or two of them onto me.” 

“Are there any that you have in mind?” 

“There’s some maple leaves and branches I’d like on my arm. She painted them as a way to personalize our drawers at the cottage. Nesta got fire, Elain got flowers, she painted the night sky for herself, and I got branches and leaves from a maple tree I used to love.” 

“Is this the tree you used to avoid lessons in?” Anika asked with an impish grin. She’d always loved the mental image of me as an ornery child. 

“Yes. There’s also a sprig of foxglove on one of the table legs that I like as well. It might look nice on my calf or forearm.”

There was a lull in conversation when our food arrived and we both dug in. My Wellington (that sounded like a euphemism) was fantastic and judging by the obscene noises Anika was making, the lamb was good too. 

I absently watched Anika eat and moan, forcing myself to focus on my food when my cheeks started heating up. She should be illegal. 

“How would you feel about moving up north with me? Or at least moving between Amre and the north with me?”  
Anika looked somewhat gob smacked as she mulled the thought over, still chewing her lamb. 

“I understand if you don’t want to. We wouldn’t be able to be open about our relationship in the north, or to my family, really. You’ve also always lived in Amre and I understand if you don’t want to leave or if you don’t want to live around my family.” 

Anything she wanted, I swore to myself, I would have to be alright with. If she didn’t want to live in the north, or even if she wanted to end her relationship with me, I would accept it. A knot of fear tied itself into my stomach. 

But as always, Anika didn’t fail to amaze me with her iron will. 

“I’ll come up north with you and move back and forth between there and Amre.” I felt my knees go wobbly with relief. 

“Thank you,” I managed through the lump in my throat. 

“I do expect you to come up with a good reason as to why you’re traveling around with me though, I have no imagination.”

“I’ll be telling people that we’re the ultimate gal pals.” 

“That’s still just a euphemism for what we actually are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a review or kudos to let me know what you think.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

"Who is she?” Nesta questioned, wrinkling her nose. I didn’t see what there was to dislike. Anika looked fabulous in our garden. Elain had decided that after Anika said she’d never tried gardening that it was a must for her to try gardening.

“She’s my ultimate gal pal.” 

Anika and Elain were both coated in dirt and snow and they’d both forgone cloaks despite the cold. Anika was trying her hand at planting bell-shaped deep purple hellebores. 

Nesta gave me a look. “I understand that, but why is she here?” 

“Because I invited her.” 

There was the signature Nesta glare. She should file a patent. 

“Why did you invite her?”

I sighed, there was no getting out of this. “Because I enjoy being around her and she’s been a good friend of mine for a long time.”

“Are you sure she’s not just using you for our money?”

“I know she’s not.”

I could see where Nesta got the idea. I’d gotten Anika that fire opal necklace and a few other jewelry pieces, not to mention a few new dresses. It had all come out of my expenses in the family books. Even after I’d all but set a large pile of money on fire for some new pieces for Anika, I was still nowhere near my monthly limit. 

I hadn’t even had second thoughts about getting her the different pieces, and she’d hardly asked for any of them. 

If I told Anika that I wanted to spend the rest of my life living in a gutter with no money she would be game. 

Nesta curled her lip. “I don’t like her.” Anger flared in my gut, but I forced it down. It was Nesta and I shouldn’t take it personally. 

“You don’t like anyone Nesta.” Nesta scowled and glared at me. “Actually no, you like Elain.”

Her glare intensified. Lesser beings would have melted in their boots. 

“You don’t think I like you?” 

I paused. “I don’t think you like me, I think you love me and that you’d do more for me than I realize.” It was true. I would never have assumed that Nesta would hike through the wood and to The Wall for Feyre. Somewhere in her raging and unrelenting heart, she had a soft spot for her family, I’d seen it when she held my hand in the woods after my wounds were cauterized. “But I think given the chance you wouldn’t spend a lot of time around me.” 

“I can’t argue.”

Although I knew it, it still hurt that my big sister didn’t want to be around me. To be fair I didn’t usually want to be around all the time her either though. 

“I would have gone up to The Wall if that monster had taken you,” I confessed. For once in her life, Nesta seemed somewhat surprised. 

“I would have gone after you too.” 

A little part of me felt like crying. It was rare that Nesta gave up any ground, and I’d never really heard her say anything nice about me. 

“Thank you.”

Nesta snorted. “I didn’t do anything.” 

“It means a lot that you’d consider doing anything for me.” 

There were a few uncomfortable beats of silence as we both absorbed what happened. 

“Let’s never speak of this emotional connection ever again.” 

Nesta nodded shortly in agreement. 

“We wouldn’t want either one of us to have our badass reputations tarnished.” 

My sister gave me a sideways look. “You have a reputation?”

It hit me again that no one in my family really knew what my life was like in Amre. Or what I was like in Amre. 

I shrugged uselessly. “People think I’m scary.”

Nesta swept her eyes over my skinny body, mistaking thinness for weakness. “Is this because you’re a fighter?” 

“Mostly, yes.” 

“Are you any good?” I didn’t even need to think about my answer.

“Yes.” 

There were a few minutes where we just watched Anika and Elain pat the flowers into the ground. The hellebores were being put around the two ash trees. True to my promise I’d been caring for them well. Elain had given me the run down on how not to kill plants and ever since then I’d been joining her in the garden for an hour each day. It was a nice break from being hunched over the family books, receipts, and different financial theory books. Father would be starting me on weighing in on different investments soon, so I’d be making my own money soon. 

Anika thought it was a bit weird, but she understood my compulsive desire to turn the golden monster into a rug. 

I checked my battered copped pocket watch. Midday. Time to get back to work. 

I left Anika and Elain to their gardening and Nesta to whatever she did when I wasn’t around to irritate her. 

Father was sitting behind his desk, waiting for me with a large pile of papers. Wonderful. With the amount of time I spent hunched over paperwork already I’d become a hunchback within the next year. I might finally take a page out of my sisters’ book and employ good posture. 

“Good morning Zoya.”

“Afternoon actually.” Father rolled his eyes at me. That was where I got it from. 

He slid the pie of papers towards me. “These are different investment opportunities that I have been considering. I want you to choose a few things that you consider worthwhile and I will give you a few thousand to invest in them.” I nodded, excitement churning in my gut despite the towering stack of papers that I’d have to read. 

I carted the stack of papers to my office across the way and immersed myself in them. 

Most of them seem poor or mediocre, the business would either stay stagnant or waver slightly over time. There were a few farms that seemed to have the room and funds for aggressive expansion in the future and I set them aside. 

There were a few bars and other businesses that also had shares available, one restaurant was set aside and a bakery. They both had room to grow and improve their profit margins with the right guidance. 

The list of businesses which seemed worthwhile gradually grew as I worked through the pile slowly. My shoulder and neck had long since knotted up and the sun set outside but I just lit a few candles and continued. 

In the end, my list consisted of a solid ten businesses and products which seemed worth investing in, whether it was short or long term they would give a fair yield. 

By the time I returned with the stack of businesses to Father’s office he’d clearly had a dinner brought up to him. I’d have to ask Anna to do the same for me. It smelled like something with beef and potatoes, so I’d at least be able to eat some of it before my stomach threatened to turn itself inside out. 

He took the papers from me. “These are your choices?”

“Yes.” 

There were a few minutes of silence as he evaluated them. “They are good. I will give you five thousand each for these,” he said, sliding five of the papers towards me. 

Something like relief unwound in my gut. 

They were all different businesses whether clothing or food-based they were treated equally because they would grow steadily. If they proved reliable we’d pump more money into them. One of the options was Borrone’s where Anika had her lamb, they would do well, and they’d be opening another restaurant in a richer part of town if the rumors were to be believed. 

“For the rest, I will give you fifteen thousand each.” Father looked up from the papers to me, his eyes bright and clear in a way they hadn’t been for years. It was a good change. “If the businesses do well you can choose more to invest in, or you can choose to invest more in some of them.”

I was practically fizzing with excitement. I’d made my selections and my father, the prince of merchants, had deemed them good choices. 

He looked sternly up at me. “Do you remember our deal?”

“I keep half of all the money I make, the rest goes to the family.”

He nodded. “I understand your urge to build up wealth that is wholly your own and to learn how to manage wealth. It is nice to look at a bank account and know that you have made it all by yourself.” My father leaned back in his chair and steepled his hands. He relaxed, so I took the liberty of settling down into one of his chairs and doing the same. 

“Soon I’ll be dead and rotting in the ground, which is why I want you to answer this question honestly. Will you still stand by and help your sisters? And what are you going to put your money towards?”

The second question was easy, so I’d start with that. “I’d like to move to Amre permanently and buy a house there and put down roots.” 

“Get married?” My father’s eyes were twinkling with the image of me and some faceless man standing at an altar. My head was swimming at the thought of Anika in a white dress and a wedding band on her finger. My stomach gave a funny little jolt at the idea. 

I swallowed dryly. “Yes. Get married.”

If he knew what that entailed would he still be thrilled by the idea? Would it matter to him that I’d be running off into the sunset with a woman instead of a man?

“As for standing by my sisters—”

“I know that you were unwilling to help them during our years with nothing.” Understatement. “I know that you only sent us money and visited because of Feyre and me.” Accurate. “Your sisters probably won’t need you once I’m gone, they’ll have husbands and new families to support them. But will you still visit them and help them?”

I didn’t want to, plain and simple. I’d hated it during the previous years knowing that they were leeching off of Feyre and I. But if they weren’t relying on me or sucking away at Feyre’s life…things would be different for me. I’d hated them during those years for doing nothing and some part of me would always resent them for that. But if they had money and could care for themselves…I’d resent them less. 

“I’ll visit them and help them if they need it.” 

Father fixed his bright gaze on me. “Will you?”

“I’ve never been as kind or as giving as Feyre, and I never will be. Feyre would be willing to give everything to others, my first instinct is to help myself. I’m not proud of it, but it’s kept me alive. But as long as they aren’t leeching away at my life…I’ll visit them and help them.” 

My first instinct was to help myself and rid myself of drag. My relationships with Darius and Anika would never have worked if they’d asked me for help or had been incapable of helping themselves. They didn’t need me in their lives for any other reason than they enjoyed having me there, and the same was true in reverse. I’d cut a lot of people free from me if they started damaging my life, it was that simple for me in a lot of cases. Feyre had always been an exception and Anika had worked her way up to one. Elain had been an exception a long time ago, but she wasn’t anymore. 

“I’m glad.” Father was smiling softly, the same way he used to whenever I did something particularly entertaining as a child, like stuff Nesta’s shoes with mud or swear at a tutor. 

I left Father smiling in his office, he’d written out the applications to buy shares in the businesses with me and they would be mailed tomorrow. I’d know in a few months if I was any good at picking and choosing investments. 

I went down to the mansion’s warm basement level, where the kitchens were. By all rights, the place should have been freezing this time of year, but the great fires kept the place warm. I found Anna and the chef, a portly woman named Molly Patmore, by the fire kneading dough for tomorrow’s bread. 

“Do you have any of tonight’s dinner left over?”

Mrs. Patmore sighed at me. My inability to finish a meal, irregular eating times, and picky nature had earned me more than one friendly cuff over the head with her ladle. 

Anna, however, perked right up. “I brought a tray up to your room not ten minutes ago. It should still be hot.” 

“Thank you, Anna,” I said, already turning to leave. For once my stomach was cramping in a way that suggested it wanted food. It only happened once in a blue moon so I intended to take full advantage. 

A bright basket of apples caught my eye on the way out. I turned around to Mrs. Patmore and innocently pointed at the basket. “May I have one?”

She glared at me. “No. They’re for pies that I’m making tomorrow.” 

I couldn’t get everything in life. “Ok then. Night!”

The two of them bid me a good night as I left the kitchen. 

Waiting for me on my bed was a welcome sight. Anika was curled up reading a book from our library in a sheer nightgown that made my heart flutter in a way that couldn’t be good for my health. 

“How did gardening go?” I asked, trying to ignore the way my mouth had dried out at the sight of her. 

“I think I’m better off not handling plants, but Elain’s fun to be around.” 

“Did you kill the flowers?” I was only half paying attention to what I was saying as Anika stretched out her dancer’s legs. 

“No, but I probably came fairly close.”

When I could drag my eyes away from Anika’s legs I forced my attention to the platter of food on one of my bedside tables. Anna had gotten to know me better and she had a good sense of what I would and wouldn’t eat, and the amount I could stomach. Even after the healer decreed that I needed to increase my food intake and I’d stuffed myself to the point of being incapacitated by my stomach’s cramping, I didn’t eat nearly as much as the people around me. 

There was a small serving of a beef and potato stew, as well as some bread and butter. There was a pitcher of water to go along with it. Bless Anna for thinking to bring—

Anna. 

Anna had been here, and she might have seen Anika lounging in her nightgown on my bed. Friends probably didn’t do that. Panic was welling up in my stomach and constricting my chest.

“Did Anna see you here?” 

Anika shook her head and I felt myself deflate. “I came in after she delivered your dinner. It’s for the best that no one in the house really gets even an inkling of how much time I spend in here with you.” 

I had to agree. As much as I wanted to trumpet from the rooftops that Anika was mine. As much as I wanted to set myself down on a chair at our next party and have Anika claim my legs as her seat the same way we did in Amre—it wasn’t possible. Not if we wanted to keep the relationship silent. 

I scarfed down about half of the stew and a few slices of bread before I felt uncomfortably bloated. Anika looked up from her book. For a second I worried that she, like everyone else, would berate me and tell me to eat more, no matter the consequences. Instead, she daintily sniffed at the food, considering it. “Are you going to finish that?” 

I shook my head and shoved the platter across the bed towards her. “All yours.” 

She eagerly tucked in, her book forgotten. Anika was the type of person that lived to eat, the complete opposite of me. She could pack down food and I had no idea where it went. It worked perfectly for us. I could never finish a meal and Anika could eat more food that some of the seven-foot muscle-bound bouncers I had met. She usually got what I couldn’t stomach. 

I went about stripping away my clothes and pulling my hair out of its usual tight bun and headed to the washroom. It took less than a minute for the water to pool into the tub, especially since I still preferred cool water—a remnant from when my side was still burned and couldn’t tolerate anything else. 

Anika didn’t glance up from the stew that she was hounding down. I’d would have found it discouraging that she didn’t pause to glance at me, naked as I was, but I knew that her love for food was on par with my obsession for knives. There was no point in taking offense. Not to mention that Mrs. Patmore’s cooking was damn good, even if I hated most foods. 

I sank into the water and washed myself down. As much as I liked the almond and honey soap my sisters preferred, I’d started investing in citrus-scented soap instead. Something about smelling like an orange ap-peal-ed to me. Pun intended. 

My shoulder was nearly completely healed and the scratches on my arm from the golden monster had turned into a few silvery ropes on my skin. My side was now a mess of scar tissue, and parts of it were still healing, but now it only needed one paste a day. The healer was pleased with my progress and I was alive. It was good enough for me. 

Anika hadn’t seemed to mind my scars at all, taking them in stride like the rest of my body. It was a shame that it would be hard to put tattoos on them, but Eric would probably be willing to—

A pair of soft hands was working through my hair. 

I purred and leaned back into Anika’s touch as she started running her fingers through my hair—brushing it out. 

“I like your hair…” she murmured as she untangled the day’s knots. I smirked. I knew she did if the way she pulled at it when I was between her legs was any indication. I looked back around at her and my mouth dried out. Anika was stark naked, the flimsy nightgown was gone on the floor behind her. 

Her head dipped, her gaze fixated on my mouth and the way my pulse was fluttering in my neck, hunger lit up her deep blue eyes— 

She leaned down, nuzzling into my throat. Only she was allowed anywhere near my neck. It was a prime target in a fight and mine had become especially attuned to any contact—but I didn’t mind it from her.  
I leaned my head back and let her get closer. 

She pressed a trail of kisses up my neck. “Thank you for letting me come here with you.” My toes curled. I fought for the ability to get out coherent words as she worked down to my collar bones. “I’d be miserable without you.”  
I pulled myself out of the tub, letting Anika’s eyes roam over my body. I wasn’t proud of my body—there wasn’t much to be proud of—but I was comfortable around her. The way her eyes ate me up made me feel desirable. 

“Would you miss me?” She asked as I cradled her lovely face in my hands, taking the sight of her in. 

“I’d miss you every moment,” I said, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth as I pulled her gently towards my bed. I met no resistance. “I’d miss your smile.” My lips grazed over the shell of her ear, making her back arch slightly. “I’d miss your laugh.” I pressed a kiss into her neck, right below her ear, and she tilted her head to give me more access as she bit down on her lower lip.

My hands absently slide over the curves of her body and her eyes fluttered closed as they coasted around her hips. I pressed a kiss to the hollow of her collarbone and watched as she went loose in my hands. 

I lifted my head and watched her eyes flutter open. She gently rested her forehead against mine as my hands roved lazy lines down her back, over her ass, and then up again. 

She was unbelievably beautiful as she wore the moonlight streaming into my room like lingerie. 

“You’re taking too long,” she said, jerking her chin towards the bed. 

I grinned devilishly at the slight growl lacing her words. Gods save me I somehow managed to walk her to the bed and ease her down on top of me. 

She straddled me, the muscles in her stomach and legs flexing. I was going to devour her. From head to toe, I was going to devour her—

Anika grinned down at me, not her usual cheery one, but a dark, cruel thing. 

She angled her mouth over mine. It wasn’t a gentle kiss. Wasn’t soft or searching. 

It was claiming—wild and unchecked. 

Her hands went to my chest and mine returned the favor. Her feather-light touch made my breath hitch. She wasn’t good for my health at all. 

My hands shot to her hair, pulling her closer as I answered her searing kiss with my own, unable to get enough, to feel or touch enough of her—

“Zoya how much money do—” 

I froze. Anika went stone cold on top of me. We hadn’t heard the door open—hadn’t locked it either. 

Nesta was standing stock-still gaping at us. 

Anika threw herself off of me and covered herself with a blanket and Nesta backed rapidly out of the room. 

I went out after her buck-naked. One of the many knives hidden around my room found its way into my palm. 

Nesta was halfway down the corridor, still backing away, her eyes wide. 

Sister or not I spared no strength when I slammed her against the wall. One of my forearms pressed down hard against her neck, keeping her still. My knife glittered ominously in the hallway’s candlelight. 

Nesta watched the blade wide-eyed. She was breathing in short, shallow gasps. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” She hissed furiously, her eyes flashing. “Why didn’t you tell us?” 

“It would just be another thing for you to hate about me,” I snarled, my hands and the knife shaking dangerously. “You think people up here would accept it? You think any of you would accept me if our family was ostarcized because of it?” 

Nesta’s eyes were furiously blazing. “You think we would abandon you because you’re—” she hesitated. I’d never seen her stumble over her words before. “Because you’re gay?” 

Anger welled up in me—white-hot and uncontrollable. “Why not?” I seethed. “You’ve always hated that I don’t fit into your social circles and you expect me to share something this personal with you?”

“How long have you been with her?” 

“You have no right to any of the details of my life. All you’ve done in the past is spit up venom whenever I presented you with a part of me. I’m not giving you anything. Nothing, Not for something this personal. You don’t deserve it.” I wasn’t aware of the tears rolling down my cheeks but Nesta’s eyes widened as she saw them.

I pushed down against her throat, forcing her to gasp a bit for her air. “Don’t repeat what you saw to anyone. Don’t hint at my sexuality to anyone. Don’t attack me or Anika for it. Because if you do,” I weighted the dagger in my hand and pointed it threateningly towards my sister, “my sister or no, there will be nowhere here that is safe for you. It is not your secret to tell, nor your place to judge me.”

“I won’t,” Nesta swore, struggling to get the words out. “I promise I won’t.” 

I left her in the hallway, gasping for her breath and hunched over. Panic crept over me. I didn’t care too much about myself, but now Nesta knew about Anika too. 

My sister or not, if she breathed a word of it to anyone…she wouldn’t last very long. Not against me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment or leave kudos to let me know what you think.


	17. Chapter Seventeen

It was the worst feeling in the world—waiting for the other shoe to drop. Anika and I moved between Amre and the north with increasing frequency with Gale, who was happy to have the company of two, as he put it, “lovely ladies.” 

I spent as much time as possible away from the north, and each time I came back, some part of me expected everyone to look at us, and whisper, and accuse us of being unnatural. 

It never happened though. 

I never got funny looks from my sisters’ social circle. My family didn’t seem to shy away from me or treat me differently. More importantly, they didn’t treat Anika differently. 

Nesta—it seemed—could keep her mouth shut. 

There was no way that she could have told Elain because Elain would have changed her behavior around me. Elain wouldn’t have found me unnatural, but she wouldn’t have been able to treat me the same way. It would have been the same as when she thought I was a working girl—she would have loved me, but she would have kept a healthy emotional distance. 

It was highly unlikely that Father knew. He was like Elain in this sense—he would probably be fine with me, but he wouldn’t be able to treat me the same way. 

In all honesty, I probably wouldn’t be able to tell if Elain knew because she was spending increasingly large amounts of time at Lord Nolan’s house…for dinner, tea, lunch, and afternoon walk. Graysen was also visiting us with an alarming frequency, occasionally he would just show up at our gates with some exotic potted plant. He’d learned from me that Elain would prefer to be given a living plant to tend to instead of a dead flower. 

Unfortunately, Graysen never came over with more ash trees. Those I had to buy. 

I was locked up in my office reviewing the paperwork for different yields from my different investments—all in all it had gone quite well. Borrone’s had certainly paid off so I’d pumped a few thousand more into shares. I was on my way to fattening up a large bank account for myself while adding to the family’s wealth. 

As father had started letting me broker a few small trade deals last week I was now breaking even in terms of earnings for the family and the amount my sisters and I were spending. It was a good feeling. But some deep-seated part of me was craving more. More money. A bigger bank account had always equated to independence. 

But for now, I was hunched over doing the grunt work—organizing receipts and filling out the family’s books. Father had gleefully shoved the stack of receipts at me and shooed me out of his office with a smile. 

He didn’t have to do the slave labor in this house, not since I was here. 

Anika was curled up on a mound of pillows I’d stolen from other rooms and stuffed into my office to make it more cozy and reading another book. She and Nesta were equally voracious readers, the only difference was their taste in genre. Nesta liked romances. Anika liked adventure novels. 

I personally preferred boring books on math and finances. 

Both of them agreed that I was strange. 

I was halfway through a particularly long bill from the kitchens when I noticed that Anika had left her pillows to stare out the window. 

“Who’s that?” 

I pulled myself out of the chair, rolling out the cricks in my neck. I looked down into the courtyard where the gates were opening. The garden had come into itself in spring, it all looked impossibly beautiful under Elain’s care, but that wasn’t what grabbed our attention—it was the heavily ornate carriage that was being pulled by two white horses that made us stare. 

I had taken the liberty of memorizing most of the rich people in the area, their sigils, and their family members—but I had no idea who certain carriages belonged to. 

“Let’s go find out.” Anika hurried after me as we left the room. 

Nesta and Elain were already outside, striding towards the carriage and smoothing out their dresses, to meet the—evidently important—person. 

There were servants approaching the carriage already and a footman named Thomas was opening the door to the carriage and helping out a lady with golden-brown hair and a magnificent dress. 

I felt my heart stop dead in my chest. 

Golden-brown hair—

Archeron hair—

My sisters were already curtseying low to her. Anika had a hold of my arm and was gently shaking it, she was calling my name too but I was rooted to the spot. 

“Welcome to our home,” Nesta said a bit flatly, her eyes pinned to the ground. “Lady…” 

The woman let out a stark laugh—Feyre’s laugh. 

“Nesta,” she said, and I watched Nesta go rigid. “Nesta, don’t you recognize your own sister?”

Anika’s breathing was as nonexistent as mine and she scrutinized Feyre, noting her hair and facial structure. 

Elain gasped. “Feyre?” My twin reached out for her, but she paused. “What of Aunt Ripleigh, then? Is she…dead?”

“Fuck Aunt Ripleigh,” I said, shoving my sisters out of my way and latching onto Feyre. Feyre instantly hugged me back—she was solid and warm—she was here. My little sister was here, on this side of The Wall—the right side of The Wall. I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes, but I forced them down. 

I disentangled myself from Feyre and I found that she was blinking just as hard as I was. 

“She left you her fortune,” Nesta stated flatly. It wasn’t a question—it didn’t need to be a question considering what Elain knew as real life. Of course, our long-lost, wealthy aunt would have left Feyre her fortune. But there was a real question that needed to be asked: had the golden monster given it to her?

What did he expect in return?

Could I still turn him into a rug if he’d given my sister this much—her freedom?

I shook myself off. Freedom shouldn’t be a gift. It was an inane right, not something that bastard had the right to steal away from my sister as he pleased. 

“Feyre, you should have told us!” Elain said, still gaping. “Oh, how awful—and you had to endure losing her all on your own, you poor thing. Father will be devastated that he didn’t get to pay his respects.” 

I gave Feyre a scrutinizing look—she did look devastated. It showed in her shoulder and her eyes. Something on the other side of The Wall had broken her—or leaving something on the other side of The Wall had. 

“Why are you being so quiet?” Nesta demanded, keeping her distance. I stone settled into my stomach. Was this some cruel magic from the golden monster? 

Nesta had always been different, she was made from something harder and stronger than bone and blood. If she was seeing something wrong here I needed to trust her, she’d seen through the monster’s magic the same way I had. I took a few steps back from Feyre. 

“I’m…glad to see our fortunes have improved,” Feyre managed. “What happened?” The driver of the carriage started unloading trunks for the footmen. Something about him made me look twice. He moved too smoothly—gracefully.   
Cold dread seeped up in me. He looked human—or did he? 

When the light caught his face the right way something that looked like an ornate animal mask seemed to appear on his features. His features and overall shape seemed undefined and fuzzy around the edges. One of my daggers hung heavy at my side. He was a faerie. 

Elain beamed while I stayed transfixed on the driver—unable to take my eyes off of him. “Didn’t you get our letters?” 

I remembered Elain trying to rope me into writing one. I’d refused, saying there was no point. There wasn’t, whether Feyre was on our side of The Wall or theirs, she still couldn’t read. 

When Feyre shook her head, Elain complained about how useless the post was. I had to suppress a snort—if the post office managed to deliver to the other side of The Wall it would be something of a miracle. 

Elain immediately started recanting our family’s rags to riches story. “Oh, you’ll never believe it! Almost a week after you went to care for Aunt Ripleigh, some stranger appeared at our door and asked Father to invest his money for him! Father was hesitant because the offer was so good, but the stranger insisted, so Father did it. He gave us a trunk of gold just for agreeing! Within a month, he’d doubled the man’s investment, and then money started pouring in. And you know what? All those ships we lost were found in Bharat, complete with Father’s profits!” 

A chill spider-walked down my spine. Nesta hadn’t mentioned the stranger to me, she probably considered him inconsequential. But now I was wondering if the stranger had the same undefined edges and half-hidden mask as the driver currently unloading Feyre’s things. 

Nesta was watching Feyre with a carefully blank face—the same face I was watching the driver with. 

“Feyre, you look as dumbfounded as we were,” Elain said, hooking elbows with Feyre. “Come inside. We’ll show you the house! We don’t have a room decorated for you, because we thought you’d be with poor old Aunt Ripleigh for months yet, but we have so many bedrooms that you can sleep in a different one each night if you wish!”

As Elain started carting Feyre towards the house Anika stepped forward from her spectator’s position. “I’m sorry to interrupt your reunion, but my name is Anika,” Feyre’s eyes lit up with recognition, “I’m a friend of Zoya’s from Amre.”   
Feyre nodded, looking her up and down and smiling. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“It’s good to meet you too, I’ve heard a lot of things about you from Zoya.” Elain grabbed Anika’s arm and looped it with her own the same way she’d down with Feyre. Would she still do it if she knew about Anika and me? What would Feyre think?

“Father will likely faint when he sees you,” Elain babbled on, patting Feyre’s hand as she escorted her toward the main door. “Oh, maybe he’ll throw a ball in your honor, too!”

I fell into step with Nesta behind the three of them. “Did you notice the driver?” I whispered. 

Nesta looked at me, her eyes slightly widened in alarm and she whipped her head back to stare intently at him. She hadn’t paid attention to him before simply by virtue of the fact that he was a servant, but now every inch of her was straining to find out what was wrong with him. Her joints went stiff when she picked up on it and she whipped back around. 

“What do we do about it?” She breathed. One of her hands had a slight tremor. I knew she was thinking back to our previous encounters with faeries, I was too. None of them had ended well. 

I hesitated. “Nothing. As long as he doesn’t hurt any of us, I don’t have a problem with him.” Nesta nodded in agreement and we followed our sisters into the mansion. 

We’d all settled in around one of the many large dining tables in our house and had tea brought up while Elain peppered Feyre with questions about living with Aunt Ripleigh. Anika chimed in with her own every now and then, adding in some small humorous comments to try and break the awkwardness at the table that Nesta and I were all but radiating. 

Feyre had never been a particularly gifted liar, but now she was being outright thoughtless. She claimed that she read to poor old Aunt Ripleigh daily and that she was instructed on deportment at the aunt’s bedside. Bullshit. I didn’t carry myself well, but it was easy to see that Feyre hadn’t been given the same lessons as the rest of us. Her claim that she read was also poorly thought out, seeing as Feyre was illiterate. I’d be working to help her with that in our spare time I’d decided, it was too big a vulnerability to simply ignore. 

“Aunt Ripleigh’s” fortune had been massive, and I knew once I finished here I’d be in my office well into the night calculating the value of certain jewels and gold. After Father had nearly had a heart attack at Feyre’s arrival he’d holed himself up in his office and had already started working. 

The next day we all found ourselves sitting under some of Elain’s trees in the middle of her garden. 

Through the window, I could see Father in his office weighing an uncut ruby the size of a duck’s egg. Feyre had made an offhand comment on how Father’s limp had improved, and Elain had immediately launched into the story of a tonic and salve from a strange passing healer that he had been given for free. I flinched at it. I’d been in Amre at the time and willing to write it off as the kindness of strangers despite the knot in my gut, but now I was left wondering if they had been made with magic and if the healer’s edges blurred in the sunlight. If there was a mask on the healer’s face that no one else could see. 

Elain was grinning at me and I realized that she’d said something. “I’m sorry, what were you saying?” 

Elain let out a laugh at my absent mindedness. “I was saying that I bet you’re having fun, organizing Feyre’s fortune and investing it.” 

I couldn’t stop a smile from working its way onto my face. “Calculating the fortune is a pain in the ass, but afterwards I’m allowed to have fun with it.” Feyre was looking at me with her brows furrowed, “You’re organizing our money now?”   
Elain beamed proudly, and I felt a surge of affection for my twin. Even if my dreams and aspirations weren’t in line with hers, she was still thrilled that I was taking steps towards them. 

It was Anika who answered from her sprawled-out position on the grass. “Zoya’s been organizing the family’s books for the past few months, investing your money for the past few weeks, and she started bartering trade deals last week.”   
I spared a moment to tear my gaze away from my little sister to admire Anika. Her simple dark blue dress offset her skin and eyes beautifully, and even sprawled out on the ground she managed to look graceful. 

“That’s amazing,” Feyre said, forcing me to stop ogling Anika. “I know that you’ve always wanted to go into finance.”   
I nodded in agreement before Elain changed the topic to her gardens. I suppressed a smile at that. For our birthday I’d probably end up giving her a huge allotment of money to just spend on her garden. It wasn’t an original idea, but it was one that she would appreciate. 

“—I do all the work in the garden, even the weeding, and the watering. Well, almost all the work.” Elain amended with her soft smile. “The servants do help me carry the heavier water buckets and Zoya looks after the ash trees in the back garden. First, she got us two from Lord Nolan, but now we’re up to ten. A few of them are saplings, but they’re growing well.” 

Feyre raised her eyebrows at that but she didn’t interrupt. I understood. In the past I killed any plants I touched, it was only thanks to Elain’s near-constant supervision that the trees were alive and healthy. 

“These bulbs,” Elain was narrating, determined to explain every flower in the garden to Feyre and pointing a gloved hand at a cluster of purple-and-white flowers. “Came all the way from the tulip fields of the continent. Father promised that next spring he’ll take me and Anika there to see them—well, Anika is mostly going for the food.” That was true, he’d invited her last week and she’d jumped at the chance. I’d be covering the cost of her trip from what was now my personal bank account. “He claims that for mile after mile, there’s nothing but these flowers.” Elain patted at the rich, brown, soil for emphasis. 

“You should come with me,” Elain went on. “Nesta won’t go, because she doesn’t want to risk the sea crossing. Zoya won’t go either,” Elain paused to fix an accusatory look on me, “because she’s going to be in meetings by then with a few other big-time traders to work on opening a new spice trade route. She’s going in Father’s stead and for her own sake.”

That was true too. I’d started out with only one or two big traders, but the project had quickly ballooned. It could make me tens of millions if everything went right. We’d had to plan the meeting a year in advance since most of us seemed to be suffering from over-stuffed schedules. 

“I think—I think I’d like to see the continent,” Feyre was saying. “But I’m surprised that you’re so eager to go next spring,” she continued, “isn’t that right in the middle of the season?” 

The socialite season was the worst part of the year. It had ended a few weeks ago, and it was full of parties and balls and luncheons and gossip, gossip, gossip. A few wealthy boys had tried their hands at flirting with me and I’d sent them away with a snarl. I spent most of it with Anika or with Graysen, who was more tolerable than the rest of the idiots.   
Elain flushed slightly at the question as she used her little shovel to dig out a weed. “Yes, well—there will always be other seasons. Nesta won’t tell you, but this season was somewhat…strange.”

“In what way?” 

Elain shrugged her slim shoulders. “People acted as if we’d all just been ill for eight years, or had gone to some distant country—not that we’d been a few villages over in a cottage. You’d think we dreamed it all up, what happened to us over those years. No one said a word about it.”

That was true, the oily feeling of those interactions still made my stomach turn. Even Graysen, who I considered to be more decent than the rest of the people who all but shit gold, hadn’t brought it up. 

“Did you think they would?” Feyre questioned. Fair point. We were truly massively wealthy now, most of these assholes were willing to overlook the “stain” of poverty on our family record. Honestly, our “stain” of poverty wasn’t nearly as bad as some of their families’ in-breeding if the rumors were to be believed. 

“No—but it made me…made me wish for those years again, even with the hunger and cold. This house feels so big sometimes, and Father and Zoya are always busy,” she sent me an apologetic look, but I just shrugged. There was no offense taken, that was perfectly true. “And Nesta…” She looked over to where our older sister stood under a gnarled mulberry tree, looking out over our lands and Elain’s garden. She’d barely spoken to Feyre the night before, or to any of us really. She’d just—gone dark. I would have been worried, but I knew Nesta well enough to know that she was simply sorting out her emotions and thoughts and when she found the gaps that needed answering she’d come to us…or more specifically Feyre. 

“Nesta didn’t finish the season. She wouldn’t tell me why. She began refusing every invitation. She hardly talks to anyone, and I feel wretched when my friends pay a visit because she makes them so uncomfortable when she stares at them in that way of hers…” Elain sighed. 

“Just leave her be for the moment,” I said, watching as my elder sister glared up at the mulberry tree like it had caused her some personal offense. “She’s working through a few things that make her crave some space. Don’t take what she does personally, if she wants answers or if she believes that you can help her she’ll come to you.” I knew the feeling, I’d been going through the same damn thing. But I had Anika to talk to, Nesta had no one. “At some point, we’re probably going to need to help her out, with or without her blessing, but for now…just let her be.” 

Elain and Feyre both regarded me in shock. Anika didn’t react, I’d dumped my theories on her the previous night when she’d asked about why Nesta was so tight-lipped over dinner. 

“Nesta told you what’s wrong?” Elain asked, sounding dumbfounded. Feyre looked as shocked as Elain sounded. I understood. It may have been years since Nesta and Feyre had had a civil conversation, but I hadn’t had a truly civil conversation with her since I was five. That conversation had been about our favorite cakes. Elain liked lemon, Nesta liked chocolate, and I liked anything with sugar in it. 

I shook my head. “No, I just happen to know because I’ve been in a similar position. Nesta didn’t need to tell me anything.” And she didn’t. It was written plain as day all over her face and body ever since the golden monster ripped down our door and it had only gotten worse after the serpentine monsters by The Wall. 

Elain was examining Nesta while Feyre examined me. 

“She went to visit you, you know.” Elain glanced back at me. “You did too.” 

I nodded easily, I knew the cover story. 

Feyre had gone stock-still. “What?” 

Elain looked at me. “Do you want me to tell the story or do you want to?” 

“You can tell it.” I wasn’t completely sure I knew the cover story inside out, so it was better if Elain told it.   
“Well Nesta was only gone for about a week, Zoya was gone for about two weeks. Zoya went first and Nesta caught up to her in her carriage, but the carriage broke down, so it became easier for them to just head back.” Elain looked slightly green before she got to the next part of the story. I understood that. Even without the real details, it was gory enough. “On the way back, they got cornered by a bear, Zoya and a mercenary they hired to travel with them worked together to bring it down, but Zoya got some bad cuts.” 

Elain looked slightly teary at the memory and I gave her arm a comforting rub. Feyre simply looked alarmed. 

“Where were you cut?” Her voice had gone slightly hoarse as he eyes scanned me, looking for damage. 

“I had cuts on my shoulder and upper arm, those were solved with stitches. My side got badly cut and we had to cauterize it to stop me bleeding out before we found a healer.” 

At this point Elain was slightly green and I knew what she was thinking about. The one time she’d seen my side she’d broken down into tears. It was the only gory thing she’d ever really seen, so it was fair to say this it had traumatized her. 

Feyre looked just as horrified. 

“I guess you wouldn’t know any of that though,” Elain muttered, pulling herself together. “Since none of our letters got to you.”

Feyre spent a few long moments staring at Nesta and I before she caught Elain string at her. “What?” 

Elain shook her head and went back to weeding, Anika joined in a helped her. “You just look so…different. You sound different, too.” 

A chill rolled down my spine. I knew what Elain meant, there was a sort of…glow around Feyre now. Being on the other side of The Wall had done her some form of good. Some part of me hated that it was on my sister because magic was still affecting her when it had no right to. Another part of me was happy that she found a place where she could grow into herself more. 

“Did something happen at Aunt Ripleigh’s house?” Elain asked. “Did you…meet someone?” 

Feyre shrugged and yanked at a weed nearby. “Just good food and rest.” 

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. She was a shit liar. 

But I wouldn’t call her out on it, not until Nesta was ready to approach Feyre with her own questions. If I went to Feyre and told her everything now it would only do damage to Nesta. So, I’d wait however long it took before she was comfortable. 

I’d have to wait to find out what happened to my little sister on the other side of The Wall.


	18. Chapter Eighteen

Days passed and the shadow that seemed to be hanging over Feyre hadn’t lessened. The little bit of despair that I’d seen when she stepped out of the carriage only seemed to grow the longer she was away from the faerie lands. 

I hated her a little bit for it. Were we not enough? But a larger part of me understood, if I was confined to living with my family when I’d formed bonds with those outside it, I’d have a shadow hanging over me too if I could never visit Amre and my friends again. Feyre hadn’t had anything outside of us for years, except Isaac Hale to some small degree, and now she had bonded (I assumed) with creatures who were better than humans in every single way. It would be hard not to long for them. 

I’d planned a trip down to Amre tomorrow to visit Eric with some of Feyre’s art from the cottage. I was glad that Feyre had come back before I did it because I otherwise would have viewed the art as a memorial for her death. Instead, it had just become a piece of artwork that I loved that would soon find a permanent home on my body just like my demon had. 

There were two surfaces I’d pried from the cottage and both were in a protective case in my room. One was the surface of my drawer: an intricate painting of maple leaves. The other was a sprig of blue foxglove lifted from the leg of our old table. For some reason, I hadn’t told Feyre about them or my plan to have them inked on my body. 

However, the letter in my hand from Eric after I told him about my plan for the tattoos meant I wouldn’t be traveling to Amre. Eric said that he was traveling up north anyway to tattoo some lordling who fancied himself as a rebel. So as long as I paid for Eric’s transport up here and an added charge to my tattoo, Eric could come here and do it. Unfortunately, Anika would still be heading down to Amre, a few of her old friends who moved to the continent were visiting and she didn’t want to miss them. I’d booked them all into a nice hotel near the artist’s district. 

The idea of Eric and Feyre meeting sent my mouth curling into a smile. They were both incredible artists, but they were very different personalities. Feyre worked on canvas or wood with paint. Eric worked on human skin with ink. Feyre looked fair and beautiful like the rest of my sisters. Eric was covered from head to toe with tattoos and hair that was usually up in a bun, but when let down it went to the small of his back. 

I was holed up in my office again, working through the last pieces of jewelry “Aunt Ripleigh” had left Feyre. I’d ask her later if she wanted her fortune invested so it could grow. Father had agreed that I could oversee those investments, so even if Feyre wasn’t fond of the idea I’d be talking her into it. 

Anika was curled up on her heap of pillows. Anna had helped her pack earlier, so she was free to spend her day reading and out in the garden with Elain. 

Outside my window, I could see Feyre with Elain in her garden, the same place she was nearly every day. Nesta was being neglected. Feyre was content to listen to Elain prattle on about every bud and bloom, and her plans to start another garden up by the greenhouse. Elain had taken out a good amount of money for books on vegetables and how to grow them, so I could only assume that Elain planned on having a vegetable garden. The cooks, especially Mrs. Patmore, would be over the moon. 

A few hours dragged by and Feyre’s wealth had been calculated. All in all, it was a behemoth sum, not as much as Father’s wealth, and about five times what I had. A little part of me was pissed off that Feyre didn’t really have to work for her money the same way I was, but it was difficult to find it irritating when Feyre spent all day looking like the world had been torn from under her feet. 

I was brought out of my musings by a knock at the door. Nesta, Father, and Anna didn’t knock anymore. 

“Come in.” 

Anika barely glanced up from her book as Feyre walked into my office. Feyre’s eyes took in the stacks of papers and bookshelves stuffed to the brim with finance and mathematics. My office was an organized chaos with nearly every available surface covered in papers. 

“Father said that I should speak to you about my money.” Feyre seemed slightly uncertain as she sat down in a chair across from my desk. Anika had all but sunk into the pile of pillows and her eyes were completely glued to the page.

“Yes,” I said, pulling together all the notes I’d made on Feyre’s money and a book I’d started that was dedicated to tracking her new wealth. “All in all, you’re a very wealthy woman. The total sum of your inheritance is around 500 million.” 

Feyre’s jaw unhinged at the news. I’d had the same reaction. Someone on the other side of The Wall cared about her a lot. “So, the question remains, what do you want to do with your money?”

Feyre still seemed completely gone so I decided to step in as she processed. “You can invest it into various businesses, Father and I would be happy to oversee that and to insure that your money continues to grow. You can always donate some of it to people in need, or you can just stick it in a bank and wait for it to accumulate interest. Or you can do nothing but spend it, that’s always an option.” 

“I think…” Feyre hesitated, “I’d like to invest some of it into Father’s business.” 

Solid plan. I nodded. “Father’s business is growing at a markedly rapid rate, you’d see good returns. Assuming that inflation remains steady at an annual 3%, your capital gain would be around 15% annually if you remain an active investor. After taxes which you need to pay once you reach a certain yearly income or cumulative wealth you’d end up with a 12.4% return annually.” Some of this was going over Feyre’s head as she continued boggling at the huge sum of her wealth, so I’d need to paraphrase. “A really good return on an investment for an active investor at the moment is somewhere between 13 to 14% annually, so you’d be doing better than that.”

“How much do you think I should invest?” 

“Really that’s up to you. You have enough wealth for any collapse in the business not to truly affect you. If you want to start smaller you can invest around 20 million and that will earn you a little over 1.6 million the first year after taxes. If you did a larger sum, say 100 million, you’d earn 8 million the first year. You can then withdraw your gains or put them back into your investment and your wealth will grow exponentially along with Father’s business.” 

Feyre seemed hesitant but she eventually nodded. “I’ll invest 100 million into Father’s business then.” I leaned forward and started jotting down a list of paperwork that I would need to help Feyre fill out, or fill out on her behalf considering that she couldn’t read. “What would you like to do with the rest of your money?” 

“I’d like to put it into a bank account and just use it as I need it.” 

“Alright, the average bank account will have your money grow at a rate of 3% per year. They use compound interest, so if you put 5,000 into an account at the end of the year you’d have 5,150. At the end of your second year, you’d have 5,304.50. Does that make sense?”

“Yes.” There were a few beats of silence as I made a few more notes on what paperwork I’d end up filling out and what banks I would consider placing Feyre’s money into. 

“Could you possibly make up several bags of silver and gold for me from my money?” 

“Sure. Do you mean literal bags?” Feyre nodded. “Ok then, around how many and how much in each one?” 

“Just put in however much money it used to cost for us to survive a few months. Maybe twenty bags or so.” 

It took me less than three minutes to calculate how much money Feyre now had and to collect twenty-five bags of money, all with a couple hundred marks in them. It was twice as much money per bag as we used to see in a year. I stuck them all inside a larger bag and handed it to Feyre.

“What are you going to do with them?”

“I’m going to give them out to the people who are struggling in our old village. I want to visit our cottage.”

I understood the urge. The place held mixed feelings for me when I visited it. Feyre and Nesta had always hated the place. I’d simply tried to put as many miles between that hovel and myself. But my twin, Elain, the gentle heart and the flower grower, looked at our old cottage with hope. It was easy to see which one of us was the strongest. 

“We still own the land and the cottage, so don’t worry about disturbing anyone when you get there. There’s no lock on the door, but nothing will be missing since there’s nothing of value for people to take.”

Feyre took the bag of money, carrying it easily on her arm and she left my office, closing the door behind her.

“She’s a good person.” 

Anika was right. “She’s very giving. She’s selfless in a way I’ll never be.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to be that selfless, not after Amre. Not after what Amre does to people.” It was nice of her to see me in such a good light, but the reality of it was, that I’d been selfish and self-centered long before Amre had come into my life and turned the self-serving urges into instinct. 

Anika left the following day. The same day that Father announced that he would be holding a ball in Feyre’s honor. As much as I agreed with the excuse to get drunk in public and eat too much sugar, I hated the build-up to parties…they always landed me under a never-ending pile of receipts and calculations as my sisters threw money at things we never thought we’d have again. 

Feyre had begged Father not to host it, but Elain had taken charge of planning, and it was physically impossible to say no to her. I should know, I’d spent my entire life with her with the exception of five minutes at the very start of it. Best five minutes of my life. 

The evening found me sitting out in the garden with a large book full of family finances and a few last receipts to consider. 

Feyre and Elain had spent the afternoon digging out a new square for Elain’s next garden. It had been fun to watch the gardeners approach them and try to talk them out of the task. They’d all been horrified to see Elain elbow-deep in mud and Feyre condoning the behavior. Mrs. Patmore brought out a tray of mini lemon tarts and I’d eaten a few. They were quite possibly the only food I could eat constantly with no complaints from my overly-sensitive stomach. 

Feyre paused, sliding the shovel into the ground and setting her foot on top of it. The gardeners had been horrified by Feyre’s tunic and pants, but they hadn’t bothered with me. I was a lost cause. They had rushed to get Feyre one of the big, floppy hats that Elain wore outside to protect her skin. Feyre probably wore it to humor them considering that her skin was tanned and freckled from her time above The Wall. 

Elain definitely needed the hat, she went crispy and red in the sun the same way I did. 

Nesta crept upon us at some point and she watched Feyre examine her calloused hands. 

“Even if you washed them, there’d be no hiding it,” Nesta said, sweeping over from her favorite tree to sit under. She looked beautiful in her simple lavender muslin gown, with her hair half up and billowing around her shoulders. “To fit in, you’d have to wear gloves and never take them off.” She was right and Feyre and I were in the same boat in terms of calloused hands. I still fought when I visited Amre and it showed. 

“Maybe I don’t want to fit in with your social circles,” Feyre said, turning back to her shovel. Fucking preach Feyre. If my hands weren’t full of receipts I would have applauded. 

“Then why are you bothering to stay here?” A sharp, cold question. Feyre plunged her shovel deeper into the earth.   
“Why are you bothering to come talk to us if all you’re going to do is tell us to leave?” I butted in, glaring at Nesta. Nesta glowered right back at me and Feyre sighed in exasperation at our age-old routine as she heaved up a pile of dark soil and grass. 

“It’s my home, isn’t it?” Feyre asked. 

“No, it’s not,” Nesta said flatly. If I was closer to her I’d kick her in the shin because I was incredibly mature. Feyre seemed to be thinking along the same lines as me because she slammed her shovel back into the ground. “I think your home is somewhere very far away.” 

Feyre paused. 

I stopped breathing. 

Elain had gone off with some of the gardeners, she wouldn’t be back for some time. Good. 

Feyre slowly turned to face the two of us. “Aunt Ripleigh’s house—” 

 

“There is no Aunt Ripleigh.” Nesta reached into her pocket and tossed something into the churned-up earth. 

It was a chunk of wood that looked as if it had been ripped from something. I knew the look of it, I had two of my own. Painted on its surface was a beautiful rendering of fire. It was Nesta’s drawer. I’d noticed the piece was missing when I tore out pieces of my own drawer and the foxglove. 

Feyre’s breath hitched. 

I wasn’t as surprised. I probably had a better handle of the kindness that Nesta was capable of when she let herself loose a bit. 

“Your beast’s little trick didn’t work on me,” Nesta said with a quiet steel before pausing and looking at me, “on us.” Feyre’s head whipped between the two of us. “Apparently, an iron will is all it takes to stop magic from digging in. So we had to watch Father and Elain go from sobbing hysterics into nothing. I had to watch a part of Zoya break. We had to listen to them talk about how lucky it was for you to be taken to some made-up aunt’s house. I thought I’d gone mad, but Zoya proved that I hadn’t.” 

“Elain said—said that you two went to visit me, though. That you tried.”

Nesta snorted, her face grave and full of that long-simmering anger that she could never master. “He stole you away into the night, claiming some nonsense about the Treaty. And then everything went on as if it had never happened. It wasn’t right. None of it was right.”

“And then…” I spat out, my own anger welling up at the memory, “he made us rich. Like money would fill the hole you left. Like he was paying for you.” 

Feyre’s hands went slack at her sides. “You went after me,” she breathed. “You both went after me—to Prythian.”   
“We got to The Wall. We couldn’t find a way through.” 

Feyre raised a shaking hand to her throat. “You trekked two days there and two days back—through the winter woods? You fought a bear?” 

Nesta snorted derisively. “It was no bear.” 

“We found our way to The Wall, but we couldn’t find our way through. The band of faeries that we encountered had no such problem.” The back of my neck prickled at the memory of the humanoid monsters. “There were six of them and they tried to hunt us down. They ruined my shoulder and side, I sent Nesta off to find the mercenary while I held them off. The mercenary got there in time to save my sorry ass from blood loss and the last monster.”

“What did the faeries look like?” 

I didn’t even have to stretch my mind back to think about it, those monsters always danced near the surface of my mind. “They had humanoid bodies and serpentine features. Their bodies were completely covered in dark scales, and their arms ended in black talons.”

“Don’t forget the eyes,” Nesta muttered. There was a haunted look in her eyes that told me she was remembering the same thing I was—being hunted. 

I nodded in agreement. “They had huge almond-shaped amber eyes and they mentioned a ‘Dark Mother.’” 

Feyre’s face had gone very white. “They’re called Naga.”

“Well, whatever they’re called, they were part of my inspiration to spend a small fortune on ash trees.”

Feyre looked at me curiously. “What’s the other part of your inspiration?” 

“The golden monster,” I said flatly, watching the way Feyre’s eyes widened into alarm. “It’s been a deeply held desire of mine to turn him into a fur rug ever since he took you.”

“His name is Tamlin,” Feyre said. “Don’t hurt him.” The last part sounded like an order, but what Feyre wanted I would give her. I gave a short nod of agreement and her shoulders relaxed. I’d respect her wishes, but if he ever hurt her I’d revisit my dream of a nice, golden rug. 

Nesta looked down at the sliver of painted wood that she’d pried from our old house. “Zoya went the day after you were taken and spent a few days scouting The Wall. I hired that mercenary from town to bring me a week after you were taken. She was the only one who seemed like she would have believed me.” 

“You both did that—for me?”

Nesta’s eyes—our mother’s eyes—met Feyre’s. “It wasn’t right,” she repeated. 

“What happened to Tomas Mandray?” Feyre asked, her words strangled. Good question, one I hadn’t even thought to ask. Some woodcutter’s second son wasn’t important to me, but it was fair to say he’d been important to Nesta at some point. I mentally kicked myself for forgetting about him. 

“I realized he wouldn’t have gone with me to save you from Prythian.” 

For my elder sister’s raging and unrelenting heart, it had been a line that she couldn’t cross.   
Feyre and I looked at our older sister. I’d wanted to be like her while I was younger, until I realized that I preferred being a complete ass. I loved Nesta for not being able to stomach the sycophants that now surrounded us. She was a kindred spirit for me in that sense. 

Nesta had a stronger backbone than most fighters in The Pits or the bosses that ruled the red-light district. She’d never spent a day in the forest and she’d gone with me after our younger sister. She’d mourned the loss of our mother and the loss of our wealth with a shroud of icy rage and bitterness, because her anger was her lifeline where distance had been mine. She did it because she cared, beneath it all she cared more than I ever had. She loved and cared more than the rest of us could comprehend and I loved her for it, even if I wanted to kick her most hours of the day. 

“Tomas never deserved you anyway,” Feyre said softly. 

I nodded in agreement, catching Nesta’s attention. “Didn’t you once laugh at the thought of anyone wanting to marry me?”  
“Yes.” There was no point in lying. “But what I truly found funny was that you wanted to marry a woodcutter’s son when you refused to cut wood yourself.” 

Nesta didn’t smile, but there was a light in her blue-grey eyes that hadn’t been there for weeks. “Tell us everything that happened,” she said—an order, not a request. 

So Feyre did. 

When she finished her story my only comment was, “I think you should have shoved a boot up Lucien’s ass, see if that fixed his holier-than-thou attitude.” It earned me a laugh from Feyre. 

Nesta merely stared at Feyre for a long moment before asking her to teach her how to paint. 

I tagged along. 

Painting lessons were a good reason to escape the busier parts of the house, which were steadily becoming more and more chaotic as Feyre’s ball drew closer. The supplies were easy enough to come by with Anna’s help.

I’d insisted to Feyre that I’d be painting my own masterpiece and she’d given me a look that said: do you even know how to hold a paintbrush?

But she left me to my canvas with a few paints. 

Nesta’s sarcastic and irritated comments at Feyre’s insistence that it was important to show emotion in a painting made me smile and made Feyre sigh. The day Nesta painted her heart onto a canvas the same way Feyre did would be the day the world ended…partly because Nesta would have no idea how to paint without Feyre there and partly because Nesta had more layers than a fucking onion. 

When Feyre took a break to look at my painting she snorted. “Beautiful.” 

“I thought so too.” 

Nesta pulled herself away from the flowers she was painting to look at my painting. I’d painted four magnificent stick figures, all with obnoxiously long, flowy hair. There was one holding a flower at least three times her size, that one was Elain. There was Feyre holding what could have been a matchstick, but was obviously a paintbrush. Nesta had a speech bubble which read, “I don’t need no stinkin’ Mandray.” I had a smear of red on my back for my tattoo and a comically large dagger in my hand. 

Nesta narrowed her eyes at my depiction of her. “Your grammar is horrible.” All I could do was stare at her incredulously. “That’s your problem with it?”

She didn’t answer me, choosing instead to wipe a smear of red paint onto my neck in retaliation. 

“Why is your back on fire?” Feyre asked, staring at drawing-me’s tattoo. 

“That’s my tattoo.” Feyre was now staring at real-me. 

“You have a tattoo?” I nodded. 

“It takes up her entire back,” Nesta chimed in. I wondered briefly where she’d seen it before remembering that she’d walked in on me and Anika butt-naked and starting to go at it. 

“Can I see it?” Feyre asked, now staring at my back. I was already stripping off my ruined top. The pain and charcoal probably wouldn’t be washing out anytime soon. Anna would have my hide. 

Feyre ran her fingertips over the edges of my demon. Its great blood-red glowing eyes in the center of my back would be staring at Feyre. Its great black horns curved up towards my neck, looking somewhat similar to ram’s horns. Its black, leathery skin would be taking up the expanse of my back, highlighted by the hellfire surrounding it. Its huge leathery wings arched upwards, the night-black talons running down the back of my upper arms. 

Nesta leaning in to get a closer look. “You may say that Feyre’s hands don’t fit in with your social circles up here, but my entire back doesn’t.” 

“It’s beautiful,” Feyre breathed. “Whoever did it knows their craft.”

I grinned. “Yeah, Eric’s pretty great. He’s coming up here in a few days to give me one or two more pieces.”

Feyre looked up from my tattoo in surprise. “Can I meet him?” 

“I was planning on introducing you two anyway.”

We emerged from the quiet room after I put my shirt back on, all three of us splattered in paint and charcoal, but I was probably the worst off. The house looked beautiful under Elain’s care. 

In preparation for Feyre’s ball there were colored glass lanterns lining our long drive, and inside, wreaths and garlands of every flower and color decorated every rail, every surface, every archway. I spotted a few of the deep-purple hellebores that Elain and Anika had planted. Beautiful. I had no doubt that Elain had selected every single bloom and instructed the staff on how to arrange them. 

The three of us slipped up the stairs, but before we could reach the landing, Father and Elain appeared below, arm in arm. Where I had become Father’s associate, Elain had become someone he could dote upon freely. 

Nesta’s face tightened the way it always did when she saw Father. It made for a healthy family atmosphere. My father murmured his praises to Elain, who beamed at him and rested her head on his shoulder.

Nesta walked down the hall and we followed her. “There are days,” Nesta said as she paused in front of the door to her room, across from mine and down the hall from mine, “when I want to ask him if he remembers the years he almost let us starve to death.”

“You spent every copper I could get too,” Feyre reminded her. 

“Same for me,” I agreed. 

“I knew you both could get more. And if you couldn’t, then I wanted to see if he would ever try to do it himself, instead of carving those bits of wood. If he would actually go out and fight for us, not the way you two did. I hated you both for that. But I hated him more. I still do.” 

“Does he know?” 

I nodded vigorously. “He’s always known that I hate him, even before we became poor. He let Mother die—he had a fleet of ships at his disposal to sail across the world for a cure, or he could have hired men to go to Prythian and beg them for help. But he let her waste away.” 

“He loved her,” Feyre argued, “he grieved for her.” 

“He let her die. You would have gone to the ends of the earth to save your High Lord.” The brief look Nesta sent me sent a different message: you would go to the ends of the earth to do it for Anika. I nodded minutely. It was true. I’d tear apart the world for her. 

“Yes, I would have,” Feyre agreed, before slipping away into her room to get ready. 

I turned to Nesta. “Do you think she’ll leave us for Prythian? For her High Lord?” Nesta frowned contemplatively.   
“Only an idiot would do that with the blight she told us about.” 

“Only an idiot would have ventured into those woods to hunt,” I countered. 

“If she does leave us she’ll be going home.” I let the truth of that drop into my stomach like a stone. It hurt. Some intrinsic part of me wanted Feyre’s home to be where I was, but she was growing up and she’d explored more of the world than any of us had. 

She’d found a place that she loved away from us, and I couldn’t begrudge her for that.


	19. Chapter Nineteen

The ball was like every other I’d been to: a blitz of preening people all dressed up to show off their wealth. The only benefit of this one was that all of the preening and bejeweled aristocrats were giving a truly obscene number of toasts—so I got to drink a lot. The footman-turned-bartender knew me very well by now, owing to the sheer number of balls I’d drunk my way through, so he kept my glass full. 

I’d set myself up at the bar the same way I usually did. Usually, Graysen would have joined me, if only so he could ask if his advances towards Elain were being ignored like every other wealthy young man’s. But Graysen hadn’t been able to attend due to some family business. I didn’t pry. Anything to do with Lord Nolan beyond ash trees was something I wanted to stay well away from. The man always made me feel like I’d done something wrong. 

I’d been staring at his empty seat when I felt someone creep up behind me. 

“Hello, sister dear.” 

I didn’t get any response from Nesta, she was staring, or rather glaring, out at the waltzing couples. Hardly surprising. Nesta didn’t enjoy balls any more than she enjoyed the sycophants who attended them. 

Behind Nesta was Feyre, who seemed to have decided to latch on to our older sister for the night. I understood the urge. Feyre’s inheritance made her hot property to a lot of young men who wanted her money and her body. Nesta’s glare kept them all at a safe distance. Our older sister was her security blanket. 

“Where’s your friend?” Nesta asked, eyeing the empty barstool next to me. Feyre looked at us both curiously, her attention drawn back to the present from whatever thoughts had been occupying her head. I had a sneaking suspicion they had something to do with her High Lord, Turmeric or Tool or something. I wasn’t good with names. 

“Graysen is off with his family tonight. Some sort of emergency.” 

“You didn’t ask what was wrong?” Feyre questioned me, a hint of reproach in her voice. I just finished off my glass and slid it to my favorite bartender for a refill. 

“Anything to do with his father, Lord Nolan, can be kept at a healthy distance from me. The man has issues.” 

Nesta eyed me. She didn’t care about Lord Nolan. But she did care about his son because of Elain’s interest in him. I had a sneaking suspicion that if Graysen ever hurt Elain he’d disappear from the face of the earth, and no one would be able to link it to Nesta. “What issues?”

“I’m not completely sure, but the medical term must be hard to pronounce,” I muttered, watching Elain let some important son swing her around the room. His dancing was clumsy at best. He was stepping on her toes. 

A full glass bumped into my elbow. I immediately started draining it. Feyre looked slightly concerned while Nesta didn’t bat an eye. I had the distinct sense that if she could hold her alcohol as well as me she’d probably join me in drinking her way through these things too. It was much more enjoyable than being sober. 

Nesta set herself down on the bar stool, letting her back relax minutely after holding up the weight of her many skirts. She glared at the man sitting next to her and he hastily offered his seat to Feyre. Feyre took it and the man disappeared into the crowd. I didn’t know him, but Elain probably did. 

There was a small group of eligible young sons watching Feyre with interest. I recognized a few of them. They’d long since stopped trying to woo Nesta, and they’d never had any interest in me. Poor Feyre. Nesta gave them a glare which read: approach at your own risk. Some people had “beware of dog” signs, we needed to get one which read “beware of Nesta.” 

Feyre spent the night sipping on her drink and using Nesta as a human shield. Nesta simply sat and glowered at people, silent as night. I drank. 

I’d gotten through two bottles and was starting on my third when Nesta got up and let silently. My copper pocket watch read midnight. Feyre started on a new drink and gave tight smile to one or two men which dared to approach her. Feyre and I were both worn down, but the social side of our family seemed to be enjoying themselves. 

Father was holding court with several other merchants and aristocratic men. I’d talked to them earlier in the night to be polite and get money out of them, which had gone well. I’d even introduced them to Feyre, but I was fairly certain that she’d immediately forgotten their names. I’d done the same until I’d figured out how much money was in their bank accounts, then we’d become fast friends. 

Elain was laughing among a beautiful circle of friends. I’d eyed them when I first met them and immediately decided that none of them could hold a candle to Anika. Anika agreed that none of them were nearly as good as her. One department she certainly didn’t lack in was self-confidence. 

Feyre left the party around two in the morning. I left an hour after her when the party still didn’t show signs of slowing. I took a bottle of alcohol to finish off in my room. It was somewhat concerning that I’d finished two and a half bottle and my vision was only slightly fuzzy. I’d be regretting it tomorrow morning, but the alcohol helped me deal with the summer heat. 

I sent the following morning sucking on ice cubes in the kitchen. Mrs. Patmore took sympathy on me after I came to her with a pounding headache and roiling stomach. She gave me ice cubes to help with the heat and settle my stomach. I could have kissed the woman. I would have if I didn’t think she’d find a way to decapitate me with her ladle. 

The afternoon found me sitting around the lunch table with the rest of my bleary-eyed family. Father had been unfortunate enough to drink nearly as much as I had the previous night and he was clearly suffering as much as I was. Elain still looked fresh as a daisy, which wasn’t fair, but then again, she had only drunk a light sparkling wine. Nesta looked stone-faced as ever. Feyre seemed to be wilting in the heat. 

They picked at their food and didn’t question my bowl of ice. My stomach would probably hurl up the ham on a normal day, but after a night of drinking my stomach as sent off roiling at the simple sight of it. 

“So Feyre,” Father said, somehow still managing to eat. I knew he was suffering as much as I was because I’d seen him walk into a wall earlier. “Did any young men catch your eye?”

I debated telling him that Feyre’s ideal man was over 500 years old. Positively ancient. 

Feyre coughed awkwardly and shook her head. 

“There’s no young man you’d like to sweep you off your feet?” Feyre shook her head but Father plunged on. “One of my trade associates, Brandon, you remember him?” Feyre nodded. She definitely didn’t. “Well his son is a little older than you, a brown-haired chap, do you recall?” 

Feyre nodded. She definitely didn’t. 

“And you wouldn’t be interested in him?” Father asked leadingly. 

Feyre simply shook her head awkwardly again. Poor her. But at least it wasn’t me. 

Father had the nerve to look disappointed before turning his attention to me. 

Shit. 

“And what about you Zoya? Have you met anyone?”

Anika. “No, father.” 

Here we go again. 

He raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure? You seem very close with Lord Nolan’s son. What’s his name again?” 

Poor Elain looked distinctly uncomfortable. She had no need to worry. As if he’d even find me attractive. As if I’d even be attracted to him considering that he had a major fault: he was not a she. 

“Graysen,” Elain supplied. 

“Ah, yes, Graysen,” Father looked at Elain thankfully, “you are not interested in him?”

“Not in the slightest.”

Elain’s shoulders relaxed a bit. If there was any girl that wouldn’t steal her man out from under her it was me. 

Feyre was fanning herself and tuning out the conversation. Nesta stared hatefully down at her lunch, clearly praying to long-forgotten gods to make Father choke on something so he might shut up. 

“I’m thinking of buying the Beddor land,” Father said to Elain, finally noticing my discomfort and choosing to take pity on me—the poor oddball daughter who’d never end up with a suitable man. Woman maybe, if the world up here caught up with Amre. “I heard a rumor it’ll go up for sale soon, since none of the family survived, and it would be a good investment property. Perhaps one of you girls might build a house on it when you’re ready.”

That would either be Nesta or Elain. Nesta to escape father. Elain because she wanted a family at some point. I’d be buying a house in Amre. Who knew what Feyre would be doing considering how much her path in life seemed to be deviating from ours. 

Elain nodded interestedly at the idea, but Feyre froze. Odd. 

“What happened to the Beddors?”

“Oh, it was awful,” Elain said, taking up her usual mantle as the only talkative person in the family. “Their house burned down, and everyone died. Well, they couldn’t find Clare’s body, but…” She looked down at her plate. “It happened in the dead of night—the family, their servants, everyone. The day before you came home to us actually.”

“Clare Beddor,” Feyre said slowly, processing the name like it had a greater meaning than any of us could imagine.   
I could honestly say I didn’t care all that much (horrible a person as that made me) but Feyre’s reaction was giving me an inkling that I should care. 

“Our friend, remember?” Elain said. 

Feyre nodded dumbly, by this point both Nesta and I were staring hard enough at her to bore holes into her head. 

“Feyre?” Father asked, noticing her strange behavior. Feyre put a shaking hand over her eyes and breathed in. 

“Feyre,” Father said again, and Nesta hissed at him. 

“Quiet.”

I silently thanked her for thinking to do so because all I’d been able to do was stare at my little sister. 

Feyre lowered her hand and looked at Nesta and I—the only people who had an inkling of the truth. A chill spider-walked down my spine. The Beddors were the doing of faeries. The grove of ash trees in the backyard flashed through my mind. I’d have to buy more and start processing weapons. 

Faeries had come over The Wall and left no trace behind. 

“You must listen very carefully,” Feyre said to us, swallowing hard. “Everything I have told you must remain a secret. You do not come looking for me. You do not speak my name to anyone.”

Dread settling into the pit of my stomach. My little sister was leaving us again—disappearing into those night-shrouded woods again in order to follow a monster. 

“What are you talking about, Feyre?” Father gaped at her from across the table. Elain glanced between the three of us, shifting in her seat. 

I blinked hard at the realization that Feyre was leaving us all over again, but Nesta held her gaze. Unflinching. I was suddenly very glad for the immovable object that was my older sister. 

“I think something very bad might be happening in Prythian,” she said softly. 

“Prythian!” Father and Elain blurted, looking at Feyre like she’d lost her mind. Nesta held up a hand to silence them.   
“If you won’t leave, then hire guards—hire scouts to watch The Wall, the forest. The village, too,” Feyre rose from her seat. “The first sign of danger, the first rumor you hear of The Wall being breached or even something being strange, you get on a ship and go. You sail far away, as far south as you can get, to someplace the faeries would never desire.” 

Something deep in my gut told me that wouldn’t be enough. I’d seen the desire to hunt and kill in the eyes of the Naga. Something woven deep inside the caution that Amre had bred into me screamed that if we ran they’d only find more delight in a moving target. 

Feyre left into the hall and up the stairs. Nesta and I followed while Father and Elain blinked dumbly as if clearing some fog from their minds. 

“The Beddors,” Nesta said. “That was meant to be us. But you gave them a fake name—those wicked faeries who threatened your High Lord.” 

Feyre nodded. 

All I could think about was how many ash trees I could buy as fast as possible. 

“Is there going to be an invasion?” I asked as my mind started spouting forwards ideas as to how to put an end to the faeries. The old blood and bone-deep rage that I’d previously directed towards the golden monster—sorry, the High Lord—was bubbling us again and applying itself to the bastards that burned the Beddors in their sleep. 

“I don’t know. I don’t know what’s happening. I was told there was some kind of sickness that had made their powers weaken or go wild, a blight on the land that had damaged the safety of their borders and could kill people if it struck badly enough. They—they said it was surging again … on the move. The last I heard, it wasn’t near enough to harm our lands. But if the Spring Court is about to fall, then the blight has to be getting close, and Tamlin … Tamlin was one of the last bastions keeping the other courts in check—the deadly courts. And I think he’s in danger.”

I didn’t pay attention as Feyre peeled off her gown, Nesta helping her. 

“The Naga seemed strong. You said yourself that bad things were roaming your High Lord’s lands, like the Bogge or the weird thing that decided to look like me.”

“The Puca,” Feyre supplied. I shuddered slightly at the idea of there being two of me. We’d either get along great or try and murder the other one for dominance. 

“But if that’s right, why has it left you High Lord relatively alone? If he’s good, why is he not being squashed like everything else that’s good or like the other courts? What does the blight want from him?” 

Feyre just shrugged and started sifting through her clothes. “I don’t know. But I have to help him.” She started pulling tunics and pants out of her wardrobe. Feyre slipped them on and started braiding her hair. I muttered that I’d be back in one second and slipped out of her room, running down to mine and grabbing a small leather sack. 

By the time I got back to Feyre’s room she was tugging on her boots, and sliding two knives into their sheaths. I shook my head at her and emptied the leather bag onto the floor. My knives, all ripply steel and most of them responsible for the death of one Naga at least glittered on the floor. Feyre looked up at me. “Take at least three.”

Feyre grabbed four, including my favorite black-bladed one that had gone through a Naga’s skull. 

“Father told you to never come back,” Nesta said, “and I’m telling you now. We can take care of ourselves.” 

Feyre sheathed my knives and slung a quiver of arrows over her back and a bow. None of them ash. I cursed myself not for already starting to make weapons from my trees. 

“They can lie,” she said, giving us information, she hoped we’d never need. “Faeries can lie, and iron doesn’t bother them one bit. But ash wood—that seems to work.” Feyre turned to face me. “Take my money,” she instructed me. “Take my money and buy a whole dammed grove of it for Elain to tend.” 

“Way ahead of you,” I muttered, thinking of the ash trees in the backyard, but I nodded anyway. 

Nesta shook her head and clutched at her wrist where her iron bracelet still hung—her last defense from the things straight out of our nightmares was, apparently, useless. “What do you think you can even do to help?” She asked, eyes still pinned to the iron. “He’s a High Lord—you’re just human.” It wasn’t an insult, just a question from a calculating mind. 

“I don’t care,” Feyre admitted as she flung her door open. Her bull-headed attitude wasn’t unlike mine in a fighting ring when I first started out. “But I’ve got to try.” 

Famous last words. 

Feyre left but Nesta and I stayed in her room—hating farewells was an Archeron family tradition. 

Feyre turned to our older sister. “There is a better world, Nesta. There is a better world out there, waiting for you to find it. And if I ever get the chance, if things are ever better, safer…I will find you again.” Feyre turned to face me. “You too.”  
I didn’t know what to say to Feyre’s offering. But Nesta did. 

“Don’t bother. I don’t think I’d be particularly fond of faeries.” I had to agree. None of my interactions with them had gone well. Even Feyre’s High Lord had been a royal ass when I first met him, and “royal ass” didn’t cover the Naga’s behavior of trying to eat me. 

“Try to send word once it’s safe,” I instructed, making Feyre’s gaze switch to me. "Once you're safe."

“And if it ever is,” Nesta broke in, “Father and Elain can have this place. I think I’d like to see what else is out there, what a woman might do with a fortune and a good name.” I smiled inwardly at Nesta not including me in Elain and Father's plans. She knew that I'd be cutting away from the family if the opporotunity ever presented itself. 

No limits. There were no limits to what Nesta might do, what she might make of herself once she found a place to call her own. Knowing her she’d probably burn down the world around her for fun and rebuild it in her image. 

Feyre looked at me. “What about you?” 

I shrugged. I didn’t even know what I’d be doing in a few hours, much less what I’d be doing once the world was a little safer. Probably trying to accumulate as much money as possible. There was a man on the continent whose wealth reached into the tens of billions. I wanted to beat him. “Send me an invitation and we’ll see if I can come up for a visit. I’d like to stick my foot up Lucien’s ass.” 

Feyre snorted at me.

She left us standing in her room. Out her window, I could see Anna and Elain. Anna was holding a prepared horse and satchel while Elain cried and said a few last words to our sister. 

Father was nowhere in sight. Feyre didn’t wait up for him, spurring the horse and galloping it down the drive.   
She disappeared into a different forest this time, not night-shrouded as the first had been, but a lush tangle of flowers and vines. 

I squared my shoulders and let out a long breath, ignoring the tears that were slipping down my face. There was work to do. That ash grove needed to grow, and I needed to find more than a few talented weaponsmiths to build me an ash arsenal. I needed to allocate funds to hire guards and scouts for The Wall. 

I needed to get Anika and Darius on a ship and send them as far south as they could go. Elain too, if possible. Father would sort himself out and Nesta and I wouldn’t be torn from this house until Feyre sent word that she was safe. That it was all safe. 

There would be no more trips to Amre or meetings or the continent. I would wait in this house with my older sister and we would weather the storm. 

And I’d slaughter any faerie that tried to touch my family.


	20. Chapter Twenty

As it turned out, ash trees were significantly cheaper if you had them imported. Despite trade tariffs and taxes, they managed to cost less than what Lord Nolan was selling them to me for. Bastard. I stole his gardener in retaliation. I was finally reaching the level of rich-people petty I’d never aspired to have.

It didn’t matter now, not when I had over one hundred mature trees and sixty saplings coming along nicely. Not when I’d hired a small army of new gardeners to care for them all. Five more mature trees would be arriving sometime within the next week.

It had been two weeks since Feyre had gone. Two weeks of no word. She could be dead. Her High Lord (Turmeric? Tool? Topaz?) could be dead. They could both be dead, and the blight could be rushing towards us.

It was this paranoia which had me hiring sixty scouts to patrol The Wall. They had all been armed to the teeth with ash from my trees. It was this paranoia that had me hunting down my favorite black-veined mercenary to lead a force of fighters to guard our mansion.

The entire house was set on edge. Nesta was quieter and Elain didn’t go to as many parties.

Father was building up a small armada of ships whose cost had landed me in his office this night with our books strewn everywhere.

“The main fleet will consist of twenty freighters. They need to be able to carry large amounts of cargo and they need to be fast.” I raised an eyebrow, looking up from the order forms I had laid out on the floor. They’d all be sent off to some of the best ship makers this side of the world with a heavy sack of money. We’d be sent ships back.

“That’s a costly combination.” I cautioned, observing my father pace behind his desk. He looked every inch a flustered human, not at all like the prince of merchants who could probably buy a few of the queens and have the cash to spare.

My father simply shook his head. “It doesn’t matter, it needs to be done.”

I fought the urge to roll my eyes. I could be overseeing my trees and the weaponsmiths who would be arriving at some point today. I’d lured them up from the big cities in the south with the promise of wealth. “Our business doesn’t need that many freighters, maybe ten maximum at the moment.”

“It’s not for our business.”

I froze.

“It’s in case we need to evacuate isn’t it?”

Father nodded. “I’d like to be able to take as many people as possible out of the north, away from The Wall. If worst comes to worst average people will not have a way to survive. We will give them one.” Looking at him now it was easy to see where Feyre inherited her selflessness.

I’d need to put scouts in place to deliver word to people if there was a breach in The Wall. People needed to be given a chance to flee to the ships.

I filled out the forms in silence, leaving instructions for the ship makers to send up back the largest fastest ships they could manage. Cost would not be an issue. Not for this. Father’s fortune and Feyre’s fortune were ensuring it.

My fortune was being sunk into guards, scouts, weaponsmiths, and ash.

“Do we want anything outside of the main fleet?” I asked through the lump in my throat. The reality of the situation came at me in waves and Father’s spending on an evacuation plan had brought the reality home swift and hard.

“Yes,” Father said, pausing to contemplate a stack of papers on his desk. “I want four warships, the flagships for my new fleet.”

“I’m assuming as many weapons on each of them as possible?” I asked, not looking up from the new set of forms for the flagships.

Father grunted in agreement as he settled down into his chair. He no longer had the relaxed posture that he used to.

I skimmed through the form, writing out descriptions and specific requests as the questions appeared. I wrote “unlimited” into the required field for the budget. “Any preference for names? These are your flagships after all.”

Father smiled softly at the ordinary question. “I’d like them named after you girls. My girls.” The lump in my throat reappeared, but this time it was over something else.

I leaned over the form and wrote down my sister’s names. Nesta. Elain. Feyre. I paused when I hit mine.

The Demon joined Feyre, Elain, and Nesta.

I stuffed the order forms into their envelope before Father could notice. He didn’t know anything about my fighting and if all went well, he probably never would.

I handed off the letters to a messenger, outfitted him with one of our fastest horses, and sent him off with a command to ride hard. I told him to not to pause for a heartbeat. I didn’t tell him that lives would rely on it in the future.

I didn’t notice the beautiful night sky and full moon anymore.

* * *

 

Feyre didn’t hear the gasps, and then the cheering—didn’t think or feel much of anything as she edged around the Middengard Wyrm and slowly climbed out of the pit, still holding a bone-sword in her hand.

Silently she stumbled back through the labyrinth, her left arm throbbing.

The moment she beheld Amarantha on her platform at the edge of the trench, she clenched her free hand. Pain shot through her arm, but she embraced it. She had won.

Feyre looked up beneath lowered brows and didn’t check herself as she exposed her teeth. Amarantha’s lips were thin, and she no longer grasped at Tamlin’s knee.

“Well,” Amarantha said with a little smirk. “I suppose anyone could have done that.”

Feyre took a few running steps and hurled the bone at Amarantha with all her remaining strength.

It embedded itself in the mud at her feet, splattering filth onto her white gown, and remained there, quivering.

The faeries gasped again, and Amarantha stared at the wobbling bone before touching the mud on her bodice. She smiled slowly.

“Naughty,” she tsked.

* * *

Eric looked baffled at the activity around the house as he leaned on his crow’s head cane. He didn’t need it, of course, he just liked using it to hit people.  

“You told me you lived in a mansion, not an army base.” His gravelly voice, slanted by an accent from someplace on the continent made him seem even more out of place on my family’s estate.

Anna had taken his bags the moment he got off his wagon and she was carrying them up to my room.

The grounds were now fortified with at least forty guards on duty at any given time. They were all armed to the teeth with ash and ripply steel. It had made a fair dent in my wealth, but it was well worth it. I could always make more money.

“Why can’t it be both? Besides, anywhere that has my older sister classifies as a war zone.”

Eric snorted, “I thought I had problems with my siblings.” I vaguely remembered Eric telling me about a time he stuck a fork in his older brother’s head as a toddler. Bad as Nesta and I were, we weren’t that bad…yet. “What was her name again? Nasty?”

I rolled my eyes at him. “Nesta. But if you call her anything other than ‘Your Worship’ she’ll stick your head on a spike.”

I lead him into the hall and up a staircase to my room. Anna had already set down the cases and stood to attention better than most soldiers. She’d begged to stay while the tattoo was being done since she had always been curious about the one on my back.

Eric finally seemed to take note of her now that we were away from the swarms of armed men outside. I wasn’t against hiring women, but it seemed like the farther north you went the less people were open to female warriors. Complete bullshit.

“What’s your name darling?” He asked, fixing her with his bright blue stare. Anna flushed to her roots at being noticed, for some reason the rich people Anna usually helped couldn’t be bothered with people who earned less than a million a year.

“Anna, sir,” she peeped, looking down at her hands which she was wringing out.

Eric let out his gravelly chuckle. “Don’t think I’ve ever been called ‘sir’ non-ironically.”

Her attention was glued to Eric. I imagined that she’d probably never seen anyone like him. He had the kind of swagger you could only find in the red-light district.

His long black hair hung in small braids down his back and eeveryinch of available skin was covered in swirling and jagged patterns of ink, all of it black and grey. His clothes were a drab grey and black, and they all hung off his rather lean frame.

Eric slumped down on my bed and looked around my room. “Nice.” He observed. “You’re set up like Queen in here.” He craned his neck to look at the intricate carvings in the fourposter bed and embroidery in the curtains decorating it. “Any…ah…” He hesitated and let his eyes sweep over Anna, “Kings in the picture for you?”

I appreciated his tact. He knew that virtually no one outside of Amre knew about my preferences.

“No, but I do have my eye on a few possible concubines.” Eric raised a pierced brow. Both his eyebrows, his lower lip, and his eyes were decorated with metal earrings and studs.

“Now that you’ve got money aren’t you required to find a King and start popping out his kids?”

I shrugged noncommittally and watched him take his cases from Anna with a quiet, “thanks, darling,” that made her flush through to her golden roots.

“If I have to marry a man I’m marrying an old, fat, rich one. He’ll die under mysterious circumstances and leave me all his money.”

Eric smiled knowingly. “Part of your get-rich-quick scheme?”

“Something like that.”

Eric was unpacking his inks and sharp needles. They were made out of a fine wood that grew on the continent in more humid weather. Anna was watching every move he made.

“Could you bring over a chair for this one and me, darling?” Eric asked, waving his hand at me. Anna dragged over an ornate chair. Her face had gone red again at Eric’s nickname. I didn’t want to tell her he addressed just about everyone like that. It was hilarious to see Eric refer to huge, bulky men as “darling.” It wasn’t a common occurrence, but it did happen.  

Eric moved to sit cross-legged on the floor, pulling out a sheaf of papers and a pencil, and he looked up at me. “You said that you had references for me to look at.”

Anna was ahead of me, already pulling out the padded rosewood box that Feyre’s artwork was in. Eric gingerly opened the box and pulled out the chunks of wood. “Your sister did these?”

“Yeah, my younger sister Feyre painted those.” My heart clenched painfully the way it now had a habit of doing at the thought of my little sister.

Eric nodded slowly, examining my maple leaves carefully. “She has a good eye and a steady hand.” His nose was almost pressed against the wood as he examined the details. “Do you want this copied exactly?”

“Yes,” my throat clenched up. “I want it copied exactly.”

“Where do you want it?” Eric asked, finally pulling his attention away from my maple leaves.

“I want it coming over the top of my left shoulder and about a quarter of the way down my upper arm.” I outlined the area as I described it. The edges of my maple leaves would be emerging from behind the demon’s wing.

“Strip,” Eric instructed. I pulled off my shirt, there was no undershirt or jacket in the way, not during the summer months. I wasn’t even wearing a binder—not that it really made any difference for me. Or for Eric, who, whenever art was involved, didn’t care about anything else.

“The red of the maple leaves will look good up against the hellfire,” Eric commented absently as he examined my shoulder.

Anna didn’t gawk either at my ribcage, which was all but bursting through my skin.

Eric ran his fingers over the expanse of skin. “It will take a long time for a tattoo as big at this one to be done. We could break it into two six-hour sessions or one twelve-hour session.”

“Both options sound like a pain.”

“That’s the nature of getting a tattoo, love.”

“How long would there need to be between the two sessions?”

Eric shrugged and made a so-so gesture with his hand. “Around a day. The area will be more sensitive the second time around. So, we could do the first half tonight or tomorrow and then the next half the next day.”

“What’s better for you?” No way in hell would my own comfort matter in this—I’d had worse. What mattered more was Eric. I didn’t want him dog-tired and etching something into my skin permanently.

“It’s better if we break it up into two sessions. One tomorrow and one the day after.”

“That’s easy enough, there’s no shortage of bedrooms for you to stay in here.”

Eric stretched himself out with a lazy grin. “I’ll be living like a King for a few days then…should be nice.”

I just huffed at him. “Does marrying some old woman with money factor into your plans?”

“I’ll get a few concubines.”

"Alright then, we can go over the finer details and plan for the maple leaves tomorrow, let’s do this little beauty,” Eric held up the other piece of wood, the sprig of mis-colored foxglove, “now.”

I nodded and offered Eric my right forearm. “Here,” I instructed, tracing the outer area of my forearm with a finger. The foxglove would be half the length of my forearm.

“Do you want me to correct the color of the foxglove? Or do you like the blue and lack of white?”

“I want it copied exactly.”

The process was easy enough from there on out, it would take around four to five hours according to Eric. Soon enough my arm and his needles were sterilized. Eric explained his actions to Anna as he doused one of the needles in a blue ink—the same blue as the foxglove—and started on my arm.

Eric had to do every dot himself, stabbing me repeatedly with the different needles and inks to get the right colors. It was uncomfortable and distinctly painful—but certainly not the worst pain I’d experienced, not by half. That honor when to the mercenary when she cauterized my side.

I tuned out Eric and Anna and leaned back into my chair.

These tattoos were becoming what I hoped they never would—a memorial for a little sister I might never get to see again. 

* * *

 

“Merry Midsummer,” Rhysand said, bowing to Amarantha. She wore a rich gown of lavender and orchid-purple—surprisingly modest. Feyre was a savage before her cultivated beauty. The thought that Zoya would praise her for holding her head high and flashing some skin popped irrationally into Feyre’s head.

“What have you done with my captive?” She said, but her smile didn’t reach her eyes.

Tamlin’s face was like stone—like stone, save for the white-knuckled grip on the arms of his throne. No claws. He was able to keep that sign of his temper at bay, at least.

“We made a bargain,” Rhysand said. Feyre flinched away from his savage beauty as he brushed a stray lock of hair from her face. “One week with me at the Night Court every month in exchange for my healing services after her first task.” He raised my left arm to reveal the tattoo, whose ink didn’t shine as much as the paint on my body. “For the rest of her life,” he added casually, but his eyes were now upon Amarantha.

“Enjoy my party,” was Amarantha’s only reply as she toyed with the bone at the end of her necklace. Dismissed, Rhysand guided Feyre away with a hand on her back. Tamlin still gripped his throne.

The crowd kept a good distance from the pair and Feyre didn’t acknowledge any of them.

She kept her chin up. Feyre wouldn’t let them know how much it killed her to have Rhysand’s symbols painted over her body or permanently etched into her skin, or to have Tamlin see her so debased.

Rhysand stopped her before a table laden with exquisite foods. The music grew loud enough to suggest there was probably dancing somewhere in the room. Feyre’s mind idly compared Elain’s balls to this party, and then Zoya’s tales of alcohol and music loud enough to blow out yours ears—parties in Amre’s basements which left humans behaving like animals.

“Wine?” Rhysand said, offering her a goblet.

Feyre shook her head.

He smiled and extended the goblet again. “Drink. You’ll need it.”

“No,” Feyre said, and some faeries who were watching them from a distance chuckled.

“Drink,” he said, and her traitorous fingers latched onto the goblet.

* * *

 

“This house would be perfect to entertain the neighbors who probably already hate us,” Anika mused, looking around the one-story house that had a huge sign labeled “FOR SALE” outside. It was in a nice part of Amre and it had big windows, which meant a lot of nice natural light.

Unfortunately, I’d managed to walk face-first into one of them, earning me dirty looks from our wealthy neighbors overlooking the scene from their balcony. They’d looked at me like I’d committed some heinous crime instead of simply smudging grass and causing Anika to break out into a peal of laughter.

“This house would also be great for entertaining people who like us whether or not we run into glass windows.”

Anika just shook her head at me and she meandered around the dining room. “That was all you.” She looked beautiful and right at home in the house. While the property oozed wealth, it wasn’t overly ornate like my family home up north. Her lavender dress and high heels were well suited to the balmy weather outside. I had crap taste in clothing, so I was naturally buttoned all the way up in a suit which was making me sweat buckets outside.

“I’m sure you’re guilty by association,” I said as I meandered to down the hall to the master bedroom. I cringed at the older fourposter bed in the center of the room, if we got the place that would be the first thing to go.

Anika wandered in behind me and crinkled her nose at the old thing too. “How many fleas do you think we’d be sharing it with?”

“I think that if we get it we should burn it out back in the yard and make a nice bonfire event out of it, complete with lots of alcohol.”

She gave me a disapproving look. “We’ll be having food too.”

“Or we could just have alcohol.”

Anika gave me THE LOOK. “Or we’ll be having food too.”

We’d be compromising and having food too.

I made my way out to the front of the house where the real estate agent was. He was all buttoned up into a little black and white suit that he was currently sweating through. He’d won my respect when he hadn’t laughed at me for slamming face-first into the window like an idiotic pigeon.

“How much?” I asked, the man looked a little surprised to have me be so forward about it. I suspected that other rich people probably would have gradually eased into the topic. But I didn’t have time to beat around the bush eloquently. I needed to get back up North, the two weeks I’d been gone was already two weeks too long. But I also needed a base in Amre and it made no sense with my money and my family’s to continue slumming it in the red-light district.

Anika would be the one moving between Amre and the North now, seeing as I was just counting by the hours until the North was overrun by faeries. I just hoped that happened after Father’s fleet had been readied.

“The asking price is 5 million.”

High.

High, but not bad for this area of Amre and not bad for a six-bedroom, eight-bathroom house.

“We’ll take it,” I said, pulling out my checkbook. “Is there an extra service fee for getting all this shit furniture moved to a junk yard or to a charity?”

* * *

Feyre’s second task had arrived.

The Attor’s teeth gleamed as he grinned down at Feyre as she stood before Amarantha. They were in another cavern—smaller than the throne room, but large enough perhaps to be some sort of old entertaining space. It had no decorations, save for gilded walls, and no furniture; the queen herself only sat on a carved wooden chair, Tamlin standing behind her.

“Well, Feyre, your second trial has come.” Amarantha sounded so smug—so certain that Feyre’s death hovered nearby. Feyre had been a fool to refuse death in the teeth of the worm. Amarantha crossed her arms and propped her chin on a hand. Within the ring, Jurian’s eye turned—turned to face Feyre, its pupil dilating in the dim light. “Have you solved my riddle yet?”

Feyre didn’t deign to make a response.

“Too bad,” she said. “But I’m feeling generous tonight.” The Attor chuckled, and several faeries behind Feyre gave hissing laughs that snaked their way up her spine. “How about a little practice?” Amarantha said, and Feyre forced her face into neutrality.

Feyre and Tamlin shared a look, the cavern wholly silent until a hiss echoed its way across the room. Amarantha was frowning up at Tamlin from her seat.

“Begin,” Amarantha snapped.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a review or kudos to let me know what you think.


	21. Chapter Twenty-One

“Ma’am—”

“What the fuck have I told you a thousand times about calling me that?” I asked without looking up from my books.

“—we saw something in the woods.”

My head snapped up. “What do you mean by ‘something?’” I’d thought this was a run-of-the-mill report from my scouts, apparently not.

The man fidgeted uncomfortably, wringing out his gloved hands. “One of the men claims that he saw—”

I held up my hand, shutting him up. “He saw and you don’t believe him, or the man isn’t sure?”

The man hesitated before admitting, “I don’t believe him.”

“Alright then, let’s proceed with the assumption that this man of ours isn’t barking mad,” I said, rolling my wrist to signal him to continue.

“The man saw something that looked like a human with leathery black skin and long claws.” My blood went cold in my veins—Naga—or its ugly cousin. The man was already shaking his head and smiling at the ridiculousness of the idea, “these young scouts have been drinking too much on duty. I mean, honestly, we’re supposed to believe that some great human-thing has scales—”

“How many did he see?”

“I—” the man froze and looked at me disbelievingly, “what? Are you believing this? The only reason I’m telling you is because the man’s having a mental breakdown and I was going to suggest firing him.”

“Is this all you’re good for?” I asked sharply. “Hearing things from men and then ridiculing them? How many scouts have seen things and not reported it because you’re in the habit of calling them ridiculous?”

The man looked embarrassed, with a flush rising up his cheeks and neck. It wasn’t enough. “You aren’t irreplaceable, not to me, not to anyone in my family, not in the hierarchy I’ve established here.” I glared up at him beneath lowered brows and I watched as his composure began to crumble. “How many men have seen things that haven’t been brought to my attention because you don’t know enough to be afraid of those woods? Of what’s on the other side of that Wall?”

The man shrugged, helplessly, his jaw flapping as he tried to come up with a response. “A few.”

“A few?”

“Possibly around five men?”

I stared at him for a long moment. “You’re fired. Take your things and go, you have one hour to get off my family’s property. If I hear that you’re still in this village or on my family’s estate, I’ll have a very public example made of your stupidity.” I growled. “Am I making myself clear?”

I pulled myself out of my chair and strode down the hallways and out the door, the man was on my heels.

“But where shall I go?”

“I hear Hell is particularly nice this time of year,” I said dismissively as we reached the outskirts of the garden. There were large tents set up for the men to live in while they were on our estate or stationed here. Nesta had been furious, claiming that they would take advantage of us.

As if anyone would ever want to get close enough to her to take advantage.

Elain was a different story, but it turned out that I needn’t have worried. All our hired hands called her “m’lady” and helped her carry her heavy watering cans around when she gardened.

It was lunchtime according to my battered copper pocket watch, so I headed to the mess hall, or rather the mess tent. For some reason, the idiot man was still following me like some lost puppy.

I walked into the hall and straight up onto one of the many long wooden tables in the tent, effectively earning everyone’s attention. The men stared up at me, none of them were surprised to see me but my position on the table did raise a few brows.

“Has anyone…” I started, raising my voice so that everyone could hear me, “seen anything in those woods or up by The Wall? I don’t care if you reported it to this man—” I pointed down at the idiotic lost puppy “—I want you all to repeat what you saw to me now.”

A few tentative hands went up. The man I’d just fired who was still here for some reason was red-faced and furious.

I pointed at a red-haired boy with freckles. “What did you see?”

“These great human-like things that had talons and black scales.”

I looked around at the rest of the men, “did you all see the same?”

There was a unified nod among the men who’d raised their hands. “What the largest number of them that you’ve ever seen in one place?”

There were a few, “ones,” a call of, “two,” and two men who called out, “three.” Best case scenario there were three, worst case scenario there were six or more depending on whether or not my men had seen them.

I fixed my gaze on the young red-head and he quailed under it. “What’s your name?”

“William,” he peeped, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

“William, go get me four good horses,” I instructed and the boy all but fled the tent. I turned to my captive audience again. “I need three volunteers who are willing to face these faeries.”

A few men stepped forward, eight in total. “Fight among yourselves and sort it out,” I ordered. “I want three of you at the gates with your travel sacks packed with ash and medical supplies and food in an hour.” I cast around the room and my eyes settled on a brown-haired man who had a few grey hairs. “You, do you know Anna?”

The man bolted to attention when I addressed him, arms snapping to his sides. “Yes, she’s the little blonde one?”

I nodded affirmatively. “Find her and tell her to prepare my travel sack, she’ll know what you mean.” The man nodded, and he was off like a shot.

I hopped off the table and started making my way back to my house, the idiot man was still following me.

“You can’t fire me,” the man blustered as we entered the great hall. I checked my watch. He had forty-five minutes to leave.

“Were you dropped on your head as a child or were you just born this stupid? Of course, I can fire you, I’m your employer.” The man snorted derisively at me as if I should know why I, the person who hired him, shouldn’t be able to fire him for being an incompetent ass.

“Because I’m the only person who will do this job. Because you have no one else to turn to,” the man panted as we reached the top of a high flight of stairs. I paused, blanking out my irritation with him and his stupidity. He was right. I probably didn’t have any great options for people I could pass the responsibility along to. I should never have even passed it along in the first place.

I turned back to him and gave him a small smile and his shoulders deflated. “You really aren’t as stupid as you seem.”

He fluffed himself up like a bird that was about to be gutted for a fancy dinner.

“You’re much worse because you’ve just made me realize something that really doesn’t help you out at all.”

He had the gall to look puzzled. “And what is that, Zoya?”

“That I don’t need you, and that I don’t need anyone else either.”

It was the simplest thing in the world to watch him lunge at me, no doubt wanting to intimidate the little rich girl with his massively unimpressive bulk and fighting ability.

It was impossibly easy to slam my heel into his gut and watch him fall backward.

His arms pinwheeled and he looked momentarily terrified. He fell backward, head cracking painfully against the stairs. It hit every single one on the way down. By the time he reached the landing blood was leaking slowly out of his head and he didn’t move apart from the rise and fall of his chest.

I didn’t think of him as I grabbed his collar and flung him down another flight of stairs. By the time we reached the great hall his face had a few unnatural craters in it. Oops.

It was less than a minute until one of the servants passed through, and to my luck it was our Butler. He looked shocked at the state of the man, turning to me for an explanation. “What happened here Zoya?”

“This—” I paused, realizing that I didn’t know the idiot’s name “—man will be leaving our service, see to it that he is disposed of like the rest of the trash in this house.”

* * *

 

For her final task Feyre was given her old tunic and pants—stained and torn and reeking—but despite the stench, she kept her head high as she was escorted to the throne room.

The doors were flung open, and the silence of the room assaulted her. She waited for the inevitable jeers and shouts, waited to see gold flash as it changed hands and bets were placed. But the faeries just stared at her, the masked ones stared especially intently.

Their world rested on her shoulders. A few faeries touched their fingers to their lips, then extended their hands to her—a gesture for the fallen, a farewell to the honored dead.

Feyre strode up the path they’d cleared—straight for Amarantha. The queen smiled as Feyre came to a stop in front of her throne. Tamlin was in his usual place beside her.

“Two trials lie behind you,” Amarantha said, picking at a fleck of dust on her blood-red gown. Her black hair shone, a gleaming darkness that threatened to swallow up her golden crown. “And only one awaits. I wonder if it will be worse to fail now—when you are so close.” She gave Feyre a pout, and they waited for the laughter of the faeries.

But only a few laughs sounded from the red-skinned guards. Everyone else remained silent. Even Lucien’s miserable brothers. Even Rhysand, wherever he was in the crowd.

Amarantha glared at them but when her gaze fell to Feyre, she smiled broadly, sweetly. “Any words to say before you die?”

Feyre just looked at Tamlin.

“I love you,” she said. “No matter what she says about it, no matter if it’s only my insignificant human heart. Even when they burn my body, I’ll love you.”

He didn’t react.

Amarantha said sweetly, “You’ll be lucky, my darling if we even have enough left of you to burn.”

Feyre stared at her long and hard. Amarantha’s words were not met with jeers or smiles or applause from the crowd. Only silence.

Amarantha propped her chin on her hand. “You never figured out my riddle, did you?” Feyre didn’t respond and she only smiled. “Pity. The answer is so lovely.”

“Get it over with,” Feyre growled.

Amarantha looked at Tamlin. “No final words to her?” she said, quirking an eyebrow. When he didn’t respond she grinned at Feyre. “Very well, then.” She clapped her hands twice.

* * *

The Naga were worse this time around.

I was numb—utterly numb. I’d lead three brave boys to their deaths and I didn’t regret a single thing. The Naga were splattered across the clearing—killing them had been easier this time.

Ash worked.

It worked very well.

The Naga had fallen like flies under the wooden edges I’d honed to perfection. The ash had cut through them like butter and I worked fast enough to be safe.

But my boys hadn’t.

Adam and Will were dead on the ground in bloody ribbons. The horses had run at some point but that didn’t really matter. They’d been good animals—but not irreplaceable.

And as much as my boys had been good and brave—they weren’t irreplaceable either. There were hundreds of young idiots who would be willing to charge into battle with the promise of money.

Gilan, the third boy, was lying against the base of a Rowan tree, but he wasn’t dead. I stood over him impassively. I was expecting some emotion to well up in my chest, but there was nothing. Fighting was fun, but it left me looking at people like pieces of meat—not humans. Not—individuals.  I wasn’t sure what type of monster that made me.

In my selfish heart, I couldn’t find it in myself to be sad about my boys. They were just casualties, and in the back of my head ran the unending truth—they weren’t me. I was too selfish to care that others were dead or dying as long as I was fine.

Gilan was rasping now—the horrible wet gasping that came from blood being where it shouldn’t. The boy’s torso was a mess of red and slashed clothing—he looked like ground meat at the butcher’s shop.

“Please,” he gasped out, blood bubbling up. “Please help. Help me.”

There was nothing to be done for him. I wouldn’t deny someone healthcare and had he been salvageable I would have helped. But as it was, for him to be fixed I’d be picking pieces of him out of the dirt to put back into their original places.

“I will,” I murmured reassuringly, slipping one of my steel knives out of its sheath.

“It hurts,” he sobbed, “it hurts so much please help me.” The last bit came out as a pathetic whine. He’d had his brown eyes clamped closed, but now he opened them. The whites of them had gone red with blood. They looked rather like my demon’s eyes now.

“No,” he whispered desperately, seeing the knife in my hand. “No, no, no please fix me. Please. Please don’t hurt me.”

His pupils blew themselves wide as he begged for his life. But it was better for me to kill him than an incurable infection or blood loss. I was much faster and kinder.

“Please,” he whispered, his focus darting between the raised knife and my face. “Please.”

I glanced at my hand. It wasn’t even shaking. What sort of monster was I that I could bring myself to do this without my hands shaking?

It didn’t matter. If my hands were shaking it’d make it more painful for him.

“Don’t,” begged Gilan as I hefted the dagger. “Don’t!”

Saying “I’m sorry” wouldn’t be enough.

“Please!” he screamed, his eyes lined with silver. “Please!” His voice rose to a shriek.

I plunged the knife downwards—it sank through bone and his brain easily. It would have been a faster death than stabbing his heart.

Blood—hot and slick—showered my hand. The reverberations of his skull against the blade made my hand rattle.

His eyes hadn’t even had time to register the shock of being killed. He went still in the dirt and I left him there.

I cleaned off my blade and collected the ash in the clearing—still my hands didn’t shake. Still, I didn’t regret it or feel sorrow for my boys.

I found one of the horses—Will’s—a few miles away. The powerfully built mare balked at the smell of blood on me, but it was easy enough to have her carry me home once I was on her back.

It was a quiet two days at the manor and the scouts were sent back out.

Nesta had pressed me to know what happened.

Elain asked if I needed anything.

I didn’t need her. I didn’t need Nesta or Feyre either.

I needed the one person who made me feel like I was better than I was. I needed Anika.

Still, my hands didn’t shake.

I’d killed an innocent boy—nothing changed that.

But here I was—feeling nothing at all.

* * *

 

“How does it feel to be High Fae?” Rhysand asked—a quiet, curious question.

Feyre looked towards the mountains again, considering. “I’m an immortal—who has been mortal. This body…” Feyre looked down at her hand, so clean a shining—a mockery of the innocent lives she’d been forced to take. “This body is different, but this—” she placed a hand on her chest “—this is still human. Maybe it always will be. But it would have been easier to live with it…” her throat welled. “Easier to live with what I did if my heart had changed too. Maybe I wouldn’t care so much, maybe I could convince myself their deaths weren’t in vain. Maybe immortality will take that away. I can’t tell whether I want it to.”

Rhysand stared at her until she faced him. “Be glad of your human heart, Feyre. Pity those who don’t feel anything at all.”

 

 


	22. Chapter Twenty Two

Fight.

That was all I could do to make my hands shake now and they didn’t even shake out of fear or the horror of what I’d done. They only shook from excitement, kind of like what happens to those small dogs that look like rats when they get excited, but I didn’t immediately pee my pants whenever it happened.

There were three men in the sandy blood-stained pit. They were all huge muscle-bound things like most fighters.

The sounds of the teeming crowd reverberated against The Pit’s walls. Gold and silver flashed as they traded hands. Bets were already being placed in the men’s favor, no matter their team of three didn’t have a challenger yet.

Darius was standing at my side, weighing a sack of winnings from another fight in his hand. “Do I want to bet on them?” He hesitated. “I don’t want to bet all my winnings betting on them.”

“Just bet half your money,” Anika, ever the sensible one of us, supplied from her position between Darius and me. I just turned to Darius with my eyebrows raised.

“You don’t want to fight them?” I asked, the surprise evident in my voice. Darius was probably one of the singular most vicious fighters I’d ever met. His bloodlust was bottomless most nights. “They’re the most promising thing tonight.”

Darius just shook his head. “I’m saving up for a nice date,” he grinned down at Anika, “she said yes to two nights from now.” Anika bounced excitedly, happy as ever for Darius.

I was just shocked. “She wanted to go out with you?” Darius lowered his shark-like glare at me.

“You don’t need to sound so surprised.”

“I’m happy for you,” Anika chipped in, giving Darius’s arm a familiar pat. “You finally got the guts to ask out our favorite little barmaid.”

I lowered my voice and leaned over to Anika. “You totally asked on his behalf, didn’t you?”

She nodded subtly. “But don’t tell Darius, he needs a bit of a confidence boost in this department.”

I shook my head in disbelief. “One of the best senior fighters this place has to offer. He’s taken on five opponents at once and crushed bones with his bare hands and he’s scared of a little barmaid.”

The three men were screaming challenges at the crowd. Still no one had stepped forward.

My hands were tremoring.

I smacked Darius on the shoulder, leaving Anika looking slightly affronted that I’d reached around her to hit someone. “Put your money on me.”

Darius looked baffled. “What?”

I ignored him and turned to Anika, “If I die, my funeral’s gonna be the biggest fucking party Amre’s ever seen. Hire clowns to chase around Rotty, he hates them.”

Anika glanced at my hands which had progressed to shaking violently. “I’ll do that if I get to spend any of the left-over money on explosives for that gods-awful statue of the pig-faced queen in the market square.” I was familiar with that statue. Darius and I had stuck a dick hat on top of it while incredibly drunk. Not to say that I wouldn’t do it sober of course.

“Done.”

And with that, I plummeted down into the pit.

I recognized two of them. One was a fairly well-established junior fighter by the name of Damien. The other was a fighter who Darius had said was junior, but I’d never seen him fight. The last one was Jameson, a young bouncer from The Menagerie who I’d beaten into a pulp on the street.

Jameson’s eyes widened when they settled on my and he puffed himself up. He recognized me.

Oh, I would be enjoying myself very much.

After days of being cooped up in my house organizing things like furniture, I had energy to spare.

And I didn’t mind spilling some willing blood.

The pit-lord, a fat but deceptively strong man, turned to my opponents. “Name,” he demanded.

“Damien, Haldir, and Jameson,” said Jameson, not moving his murderous gaze from me.

I’d humiliated him and now he wanted to do the same for me.

But I could tell he didn’t know who I was. Damien and Haldir had taken a few shuffling steps backward when they saw me.

The pit-lord roared the rules at us: you fought until the other person was unconscious or couldn’t continue. I’d heard those rules a hundred times before.

The pit-lord didn’t bother asking me my name, instead turning to announce to the roaring and jeering crowd, “Two junior and one amateur fighter against The Demon.”

That did it.

The screams and jeers from the crowd reached whole new volume and my opponent’s faces drained of color. The enormous, riotous crowd made my hands hake harder. Roars of “Demon” echoed in the underground room and people started frantically trying to change their bets, or bet more. The cacophony of laughter, shouting, howls, and screams of my name worsened when my opponents squared themselves up.

Pigs for slaughter.

That’s all they were.

Dressed in all black I was a living shadow, pacing like a jungle cat on my side of the pit as the boys readied themselves. My smooth movement was a complete contrast to the stillness and bracing my boy opponents were doing.

I stilled my pacing as the pit-lord was hauled out of the pit by the living, teeming thing that was the crowd.

The pit-lord roared for the match to begin, and then—

I moved faster than my boy opponents.

Jameson all but flung himself at me with a punch so swift most amateur and junior fighters would have had their heads spun around. But I was a senior fighter, and I dodged smoothly, and caught his arm in one hand, locking it into a hold that was bone snapping.

I bit down as I twisted his arm, trying to block out the sickening wet crunches and his subsequent screams. Bile rose up in my throat at the sound of bones shattering and splintering. I drove my knee upwards as Jameson went crashing into the bloodied sand. My knee slammed into his jaw and I felt it slip out of place.

It was so fast, so brutal, even my other opponents weren’t sure of what had happened until Jameson was immobile on the ground with his face and arm bent beyond recognition. I was already dancing on my toes.

My hands were still shaking.

The other two fighters—junior fighters—lunged forwards in tandem. They weren’t stupid enough to take me on their own like Jameson had.

A fist flew by my face and I easily dodged it, another one glanced off my exposed side as I twisted to avoid having my teeth knocked out.

It was the only break I gave them before I went on the offensive.

Punch after punch, block, lunge, duck, spin…I could see the crowd out of the corners of my eyes. They were a writhing thing, foaming at the mouth at my swiftness, my skill. The feeling of having people chant “Demon” never lost its surreal quality.

It had been a while since I’d been out of the house and able to fight for the sheer enjoyment of it.

And I was enjoying the hell out of this.

I pushed myself upwards when Damien went for my torso. My legs locked around his head and I rolled—flipping him. My body uncoiled off the floor and Damien lay there—stunned.

I slammed a kick into his friend’s body, sending him sprawling backward.

It didn’t give me much time, but it was enough. It was enough time to slam my fist repeatedly into his nose and eyes. His nose gave immediately with a wet squelch. Bile rose up in my throat and I fought it down. Now was not the time. It only took a few punches for it to quickly become apparent that he wouldn’t be moving again.

I left him in the ground with blood leaking all over his face and into the sandy flooring. He didn’t even twitch.

Sand sprayed under me as the remaining boy slammed into my side, knocking me into the ground. I slumped, gasping for air. The force of his kick made my teeth rattle. It was easy to see why he was a junior fighter.

The man straddled me, driving his fist down towards my face—

Goodbye teeth.

I twisted swiftly, the boy couldn’t follow the movement. The boy hit the ground next to me and tried to uncoil onto his feet. He wasn’t fast enough.

It was almost too easy to land a kick to his stomach that sent him slamming into the rock wall surrounding the pit. I flung my arms out, turning in a slow circle, Death triumphant.

The answering roar of the crowd made me wonder if the ceiling was going to come crashing down.

Up above him Darius was looking down, wide-eyed and grinning, a starving man before a feast. His blood was probably up as much as mine was. Anika had a death grip on his arm, her knuckles had gone white.

Three against one and it still wasn’t even close to a fair fight.

Not that I was surprised after the Naga.

The boy regained his footing and foolishly hurtled towards me. I whirled, catching him and locking his arms and neck into a hold. I twisted his arms hard, leaving him to shriek desperately in pain. But he didn’t yield.

I hitched my ankle around his and pulled, slamming his considerable weight into the sand and grabbing his head.

Crack went the boy’s face as it was slammed hard through the sand to the stone floor below.

Crack went his skull as it gave to a frightening degree.

Nausea rose up fast in my gut at the sound.

The boy went limp under me, eyes rolling. He was unconscious and probably would be for some time. Something about his head didn’t seem to be quite the right shape anymore.

I panted, my shoulders hunched over. I straightened and glared up at the pit-lord.

“Call it.”

The man blanched. “Victory goes to The Demon.”

The screams of the crowd were deafening.

My hands weren’t trembling anymore as I took Anika’s hand and she hauled me out of the pit. Her dancer’s muscles made lifting me look easy, not that I weighed all that much. Unfortunately, my body hadn’t fattened along with my bank account.

Hands reached over to slap me on the back, Darius himself was one of them.

He was grinning ear to ear, it was a feral thing. His bloodlust probably exceeded everyone else’s in the room. It was a reality check to remember that Darius, who was hopeless with women and my friend, was at heart an incredibly vicious person. “Good job Zoya,” he congratulated, his grin not shrinking by a single molar, “you’ve just won me enough money to take my girl out for a very nice dinner.”

I shrugged him off. “Glad to hear it.” Anika, bless her, knew exactly where my head was at.

“Let’s go home, you’ve had enough fighting and drinking for one night.” Her voice would have sounded chiding to anyone else, but I knew the look in her eyes better; she wanted me out of here as soon as possible.

I shared the sentiment.

The spectators and fighters around as booed, demanding that I stay for another fight. I waved them all off and followed Anika out into the winding alleys of the red-light district.

In ten seconds I found an abandoned alley, Anika was already holding my hair back as my stomach heaved and emptied itself.

She rubbed my back as my stomach heaved a few more times.

“It doesn’t get easier for you does it?” I shook my head wordlessly.

“I could have hundreds of years to walk this world and I would never be able to tolerate the sound of bones breaking.”

Anika just looked down at me sympathetically. “That was a brutal one. I’m glad that you got Jameson though, he was ramping up his harassment of the girls.”

I straightened myself and leaned against her, my side was throbbing from a glancing blow that I’d taken at some point in the frenzy. “Maybe he’ll feel less inclined to harass people if he’s eating through a straw for the next few months,” I mused, recalling the feeling of his jaw slipping against my knee.

“Maybe he’ll get fired,” Anika suggested gleefully, her eyes practically glowing at the thought.

“That’ll be my good deed for the year.”

The next year found me unwilling to get out of bed. Anika, very graciously, let me sleep in and nurse my bruised and complaining side.

Darius was an asshole.

“Up you get!” He roared, dragging my blankets off of me. “It’s that afternoon and you need to help me find a good restaurant for me to take my girl to.”

“Darius!” Anika scolded, following him into the room. She made no move to save me from him. Traitor.

“Ask Anika,” I moaned into my pillow, trying to block out the light, “she knows good food places.”

“She said to ask you.”

I whipped my head around to glare at her. She didn’t look remotely abashed. “Is this some round-about way of getting me out of bed?”

She looked impossibly pleased with herself. I wasn’t going to get her that expensive original book set for our anniversary. They’d even been signed by the author. Never mind that I’d already bought it and hid it in one of the house’s many broom closets.

“Get up,” Darius moaned impatiently, wrapping his hands around my ankle and dragging me onto the floor. The impact jarred my teeth and Darius grinned triumphantly down at me.

His smirk vanished when I kicked him squarely in the balls.

He doubled over, howling profanities.

Anika doubled over, howling with laughter.

I peeled myself off the white tile floor. “That’s what you get,” I snapped moodily. I disappeared into our walk-in closet—well, Anika’s walk-in closet. I inhabited a small corner of it that was filled with suits and black and grey simple clothes.

When I emerged, dressed up in an old black tunic and loose black pants I strode past where Darius was peeling himself off the floor. Anika hadn’t even bothered to help him up—she was still wiping tears out of her eyes as she tried to calm down.

I grabbed a pair of boots and slid them on while I glared at Darius from under lowered brows. “We need to head up North to my family’s estate later today. I will write down some restaurants for you to look at.” They’d all be restaurants I had shares in. If Darius was going to wrench me out of bed he would pay for it—literally.

I jotted down three restaurants on a slip of paper right as our one and only maid walked into the room. Daisy was a young and sweet girl who always seemed to wilt when there were more than three people in a room. But she was incredible at managing a household. Anika and I would have been out of our depth trying to.

“Good morning Daisy,” I said kindly, not looking up from my list.

“Good afternoon ma’am,” she responded politely. I’d spent hours trying to break her habit of calling me ma’am, but she just wasn’t comfortable calling me anything else, so I let her be.

I handed the list to Darius as he came struggling into the hall. “You spent all day in bed when you needed to leave in the afternoon?”

Daisy shrank back slightly at the sight of him.

“Yes. The benefits of being able to hire people to do things for you.” Darius took the slip of paper and scanned it.

“I’ve never heard of any of these places,” he complained.

“That’s because you don’t have good taste,” came Anika’s voice from the bedroom. She’d packed two days prior but her need to organize was probably compelling her to quadruple-check that she had everything she needed. It was a good thing that she was like that considering the fact that I would have lost my head a long time ago if it wasn’t attached to me.

Darius had the gall to look offended. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Daisy had all but flattened herself against the wall at the sight of Darius and his shark-like glare. “What is it Daisy?” I asked, noting her wringing hands.

“Everything’s packed up for you to leave ma’am.”

“I wish you could say that to Anika and somehow convince her of it,” I muttered, heaving a sigh. “Thank you. Have a little time off while we’re gone. Go visit your family.”

Daisy nodded vigorously. “I’ve already made arrangements to stay on my father’s farm ma’am.” With her message delivered Daisy all but ran away from Darius who was now snarling indiscriminately at Anika for criticizing his taste.

“Darius?” No response.

I smacked his shoulder to get his attention.

“Darius!”

He wheeled around to face me. “Zoya!”

I flung a bag of money at him. He caught it and looked completely baffled. “Go to Borrone’s and get the lamb for her,” I instructed.

He hefted the bag experimentally. “There’s a lot of money in here.”

“It’s expensive,” I countered. Anika came strolling out of our bedroom with a light blue sundress on. She’d paired it with heels that easily cranked up her height by almost half a foot.

The people around me were too damn tall. I needed to crane my neck to look any of them in the eye.

It wasn’t that I was short. No. I was normal-sized. These fuckers around me were just tall.

By the time we reached the front of the house, there was a carriage waiting for us. Gale was already up North this time and unavailable for hire. I’d be missing his bawdy songs on the way North.

Darius was still complaining loudly that he didn’t know where any of the restaurants were.

“Well try outside of the red-light district, Darius,” Anika said, sounding exasperated. If her nerves were fraying Darius was probably being somewhat insufferable. I’d just learned a long time ago that the key to being his friend was tuning him out most of the time. 

Darius caught onto the fact that he’d actually managed to annoy Anika because he switched his attention to me. “Did you hear what happened to Haldir?”

“Who the fuck is Haldir?” I asked, straining to remember if I knew anyone with that name.

“One of the boys you fought last night. He was the last one you took down,” Anika supplied, as she double and triple checked that all of our bags were lashed correctly to the back of the carriage.

“The one who’s head I bashed into the ground?”

 “The very one.” Darius nodded. “He died this morning.”

My heart stuttered for a moment and I looked down at my hands. They still weren’t shaking. I checked and double-checked for any emotions welling up in my chest—guilt, sadness, anything. There was nothing. I’d killed another boy and I still didn’t care. It was less personal than killing Gilan in the woods, but that didn’t make it any better. It was worse as Gilan would have died anyway, but Haldir could have lived.

“Shame,” I said flatly, keeping my eyes on Anika. She looked surprised but not alarmed. It wasn’t the first time I’d accidentally killed someone or lead to their death in the fighting pit. Just about every senior fighter had blood on their hands. “He was turning out to be a good fighter. He had a strong kick.”

Darius hummed in agreement and sighed. “There’s always a few each month, poor boy just got the short straw.”

“Or the monster of an opponent,” I muttered.

I didn’t know why my lack of reaction over the boys’ deaths was bothering me. I’d killed two people in the past as a result of fighting. There had been the poor girl who’s leg I shattered in the fight that made me. I’d found out a few days ago after asking the pit-lord that she died from her shattered leg. There had also been a senior fighter named Monte, he’d gotten on top of my and started crushing my neck and air supply. It had been blind instinct and panic that made my arms reach up of their own accord and snap his neck.

I said a numb goodbye to Darius and clambered into the carriage where Anika was waiting. “You’re not a monster, you know.”

“Am I not?” I asked. “At the very least there’s something wrong with me. I’ve killed two boys with families and bright futures and I don’t feel anything.” Anika just shook her head at me.

“You’ve done those things, yes. But they aren’t the only things you’ve ever done, and you care that you did them and you recognize it as wrong. As long as you still care, you’re safe. You’re not a monster.”

The weight in my chest lessened slightly at her words.

My thoughts were growing progressively more weighted as the weeks passed. There was still no word from Feyre that the coast was clear—that we were safe, or more importantly, that she was safe.

The three days it took us to get up North put me in a progressively worse and more distracted mood. Not that Anika was any better. Sitting in a carriage all day and reading made for boring travel. There was no Gale and fresh air in here to lighten our spirits. Without Gale’s bawdy jokes and singing, journeys were quite possibly the most boring thing I’d ever had to do apart from sitting through etiquette lessons—at least I’d been able to torture my tutor during those by slurping my tea as loudly as humanly possible.

At least Anika had her books, and they had thoroughly absorbed all of her attention.

“Do you think Darius’s date went all right?”

“We’ll arrive later today.”

“What’s happening in your book?”

“No, I don’t mind spending a few weeks with your family.”

“My hair is on fire.”

“Try asking the driver, he’ll know.”

I’d argue that her obsession with the books wasn’t healthy, but I’d bought them for her and I felt smug about having picked something she liked so much. I had excellent taste.

“Have you had any news?”

The first words out of my mouth to my sisters. Nesta looked less than thrilled to have me back but she could stick a broom up her ass for all I cared. But Elain greeted me with a tight hug and a kiss on each cheek. She greeted Anika that same way.

“There’s been no sign of anything strange since you took the three men up to The Wall,” Nesta answered for both of them.

The two of them linked arms and started off towards the house, already talking about Elain’s new vegetable patch by the greenhouse. They’d decided to work on it together and Anika had picked up a few books on rarer vegetables in Amre at Elain’s request.

“Nothing from Feyre?” I pressed, waving at the two footmen who’d come to unload our bags. I got smiles and dipped heads in response.

 “No.”

“Well, at least seeing as how none of us have been murdered by faeries in our sleep, Feyre’s probably doing fairly well in their lands.”

Nesta’s cool and calculating eyes fixed on me as we started towards the house. “She’s a human.” My sister somehow managed to make that statement derogatory. “What could she possibly do against them?”

“I’m human and I’ve killed eleven of them,” I stated. “Well…the Naga at least. There’s probably worse than them, but Feyre’s also a better hunter than I ever was or ever will be.”

Nesta didn’t seem convinced. Sometimes her hard-headedness was a blessing, like when Feyre’s High Lord (Tool? Topaz? Tap dance?) tired to glamor our memories. Other times it made me want to bash my head against a wall. “Have some faith in our sister,” I said softly, “she’ll pull through.”

“How do you know that?” Nesta challenged, her eyes fierce and back ram-rod straight as she challenged me. Once upon a time that look might have intimidated or scared me. Now I just found it pompous and irritating.

“Because she did when the rest of us refused to, and she pulled us through too,” I snapped, glaring up at Nesta. It really was a pain in the ass being shorter than everyone. “I would have abandoned you all to starve.” I had thought that Nesta knew that, but her pupils blew wide in shock. “You all would have starved without Feyre, not only for her hunting but for convincing me that you lot were still worth caring about. Feyre’s stronger than the rest of us. She’s the sole reason you’re still alive and not a mummified husk in that cottage. She’s something different, something special. Show some respect and a little bit of faith if you can find it somewhere in your bitchy heart to do so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope y'all are enjoying the story. Please leave kudos or a review to let me know what you think.


	23. Chapter Twenty Three

There was blood everywhere, leaking into the snow.

My blood-soaked hand was still wrapped around the hilt of my dagger. It wasn’t trembling.

It was easy, too easy. For someone who was less of a monster it probably would have been hard. But it didn’t cost me anything to bury my knife into Gilan’s head.

His begs and pleas were still ringing in my ears as his eyes went glassy and his corpse started t cool. Too easy. It had been too easy to snuff out a young and promising life. The boy had a family. The boy had friends. The boy probably had a sweetheart somewhere.

None of them had him anymore.

I stole him.

The lines of the boy’s face blurred and my heart stuttered at the new face.

I knew that face.

Knew the blue-grey eyes, the golden-brown Archeron hair, the full mouth, and sharp cheekbones.

I knew the face of my little sister.

It wasn’t Gilan on the floor anymore, my dagger in his head. It was Feyre.

My hands still didn’t shake, not even as my emotions welled up and swallowed me whole.

* * *

 

“Morning all,” I chirped as I set myself down at the breakfast table.

“Morning,” came Elain’s sleepy response as she tried and failed to smother a yawn. The sun wasn’t even out yet and she’d decided to get up early and start on her vegetable patch.

Nesta didn’t respond. Didn’t look at me. She hadn’t acknowledged the fact that I existed after I told her that I would have gladly let her starve. What a shame. How sad it was to have someone who usually insulted me suddenly stop talking to me. I could cry for not being told at least twice a day that I was a waste of valuable air.

Her silent treatment was an age-old punishment. I’d been subject to it on a regular basis for years.

“Where’s Anika?” Elain asked, settling her bleary, unfocused eyes on me.

 _Upstairs and having a hard time walking_. “I think she decided to sleep in today,” I said, forcing myself to sound casual and not glance at Nesta to see the knowing look on her face.

Elain nodded blearily and continued pushing her food around on her plate.

Anika was, in fact, spending a little extra time on her makeup today. There was some bruising on her neck that wasn’t entirely appropriate for an upstanding young woman to have. She’d taken a few minutes to swear at me for leaving the bruises on some very visible areas.

I grabbed an apple off the display in the middle of the table and started munching loudly. Nesta’s eye twitched in irritation. This was my retaliation to her age-old punishment. Any time she gave me the silent treatment I immediately allowed myself to give in to all of my irritating vices. At afternoon tea I’d probably go through the dessert tray and touch every single one just to piss off Nesta.

I slung a leg over the arm of my ornate chair and smirked as a vein popped out of Nesta’s forehead.

She’d probably murder me in my sleep.

“You shouldn’t get so worked up sister-dear,” I chided, my Cheshire grin widening, “it’s bad for your health.”

Nesta placed her fork and knife down with a deliberate grace and rose from the table with perfect posture. She didn’t look at me as she left the room, only stopping to place a kiss in Elain’s golden-brown locks.

Elain did the unthinkable once Nesta left. She glared at me.

It wasn’t the “at me” part which was unsettling, it was the fact that Elain seemed to be physically capable of mustering that much irritation. Who knew?

“Why do you always irritate her? What does she do to you?” The effect of Elain’s glare was somewhat diminished by how unfocused her eyes were. The wall behind me was getting more of it than I was.

“Do you mean apart from the obvious?” Elain’s glare at the wall intensified. I sighed, relenting. “I irritate her because once in a while someone needs to return her bitchiness. She gets away with too much.”

“It’s not your place to dictate Nesta’s life,” Elain scolded, her eyes finally focusing on me.

“It’s not her place to dictate ours,” I countered with a growl. It was probably the first time I’d used that voice at my twin. Elain was awake enough to register the change in my voice.

“She’s our older sister.”

As if that was reason enough to respect someone.

“And yet she did nothing to help us in that cottage. And yet it was our younger sister who looked after you. It was me who looked after you, too,” I hissed out through gritted teeth, anger bubbling up hot and fast.  “Nesta has been more of a disappointment to me than anything else. She doesn’t warrant my respect most of the time and it will stay that way until she fixes her attitude.”

“I didn’t work as much as Feyre. Do you hate me for that too?” Elain asked, her eyes imploring. She didn’t think I resented her for it. She thought she got a free pass.

She didn’t.

“Yes.”

Elain’s back went as stiff as Nesta’s.

“I hate you for not helping. For not realizing that you could help and leaving Feyre to drown on land.” I swallowed and forced the words out as Elain’s eyes started to rim with silver. “I love you, I really do. I just hate you for never working a day in your life towards helping this family. I hate that all you do is plant your gardens and spend the money Father and I make.”

And I did.

Some terrible little corner of my soul hated my sisters for being objectively useless, for more or less embracing their role as pretty little breeding stock. Feyre had always been my favorite and I’d always respected her more than the others. But after hard times hit and she started working she became the backbone of the family, an unfair role that I’d forced her into. I hated Nesta and Elain for never thinking to help. For never wanting to.

I hated myself too, for not caring more about my family. For not stepping up and forcing Feyre to do everything.

I wasn’t entirely blameless.

But at least I’d helped.

I left Elain with her eyes rimmed in silver.

I locked the door to my office, only letting Anika in with her chosen book for the day. It only took a sweep of her eyes to realize it was better not to push. Not with my emotions bubbling so close to the surface. She didn't even berate me again for the marks on her neck.

She settled herself in her pile of pillows without a word, grimacing as she sunk to the floor. She was still sore from last night.

I was still too pissed off to be able to muster my usual smirk.

I was halfway through a strongly worded letter to one of our ship-makers, the man responsible for Feyre and The Demon. I scribbled on the paper hard enough for it to give way as I dotted my I's. Apparently, there was a delay because he had insufficient funds.

Apparently, if he didn’t stick to the arranged prices he’d be replaced with someone else.

Not that I’d really do that. This man was the best of the best. It was just the threat that counted.

“What’s gotten you so wound up?”

“Nesta’s belief that she knows everything and must dictate everything and that she must be the one in control, that the rest of us must bow and scrape.”

Anika snorted, the towers of pillows around her wobbled threateningly. “Like you’d ever bow to anyone.”

“I’ve gotten on my knees for you,” I muttered. The usual purr to my voice when I discussed this topic was gone.

I could feel rather than see Anika roll her eyes. “You have the mental maturity of a teenage boy.”

That was fair.

“But you love me, so that says just as much about me as it does you.”

I left the argument there. I’d consider it a win. Anika would argue that it was a tie.

The pillows hummed noncommittally. “Try to stop pushing Nesta beyond her breaking point,” Anika implored, looking up at me from her book. “Just let her exercise her human right to be a complete ass, but don’t get too confrontational about it. It makes Elain uncomfortable.”

“I make no promises.” The Pits had left me with a very low tolerance for irritation, so I wouldn’t promise Anika anything I couldn’t keep.

The afternoon left me in my normal place: the barracks.

They were erected heavy-duty tents with beds and bathrooms and there was a separate mess hall for the soldiers. The men and boys all nodded at me as I passed through.

There wasn’t a woman in sight.

The North still seemed to hold onto the stupid idea that women couldn’t fight. That we were somehow lesser. The South and Amre were more forward-thinking in the lower income areas. In the red-light district, women fought freely alongside men. In the upper and middle-class areas of the city, there was still the archaic belief that women were unable to fight, or shouldn’t fight.

Ironic considering that I was probably the best fighter this place had to offer and one of the best that Amre had to offer.

The trodden pathways between the tents were worn and muddy from rain. The tents were battered and dirty, but most importantly they looked lived-in.

The mansion was a museum. It was very cold and clean, and you couldn’t touch anything for fear of breaking something expensive.

This small village of men and tents had become my favorite part of the estate.

It was gritty and the people here were toughened. They were fighters. They were the people I’d be proud to fight with or against.

The beating heart of the place was the training grounds.

The grounds were a wide-open dirt expanse with benches and water pups lining the edges. There were weapon racks, all filled to the brim with ripply steel and gleaming ash.

There were four men sparring in the middle, two against two.

I didn’t know much about fighting with anything other than knives, and even then, what I did know was street knowledge, not genuine technique.

Three of them had long ash spears in one hand and shorter stakes in the other. The last one had a set of ash daggers.

I liked the training grounds because they had a toned-down version of the electric hum that dominated The Pits. I hated them because they reminded me that the boys and men working under me were all so pathetically human.

Their knee-jerk reactions and shuffling feet had nothing on the supernatural speed of the Naga. Their frantic stabs and slow parries wouldn’t save them against a set of honed black claws. Most of the mercenaries wouldn’t even be considered junior fighters.

And that was the sad thing.

I didn’t expect them to necessarily be able to hold up against faeries. The cruel truth of it was that I was paying them to act as a meat shield and buy my family time—the encounter in the woods had been proof of that.

But I wished that there was a better pool of applicants to choose from, because these boys wouldn’t even be able to hold up against a vicious person, let alone faerie.

It would be a nightmare to see these boys strewn across a blooming summer field with their guts and blood staining the ground red.

But it would be worse if it were my family.

The chances of my family living were dimming with each poor stroke the boys tried to land on each other. The chances of my family living were plummeting with each day that we didn’t receive news from Feyre.

It had been months since Feyre left for her High Lord.

I could only hope that the bastard was worth it.

I still felt cheated out of my golden rug.

The seasons had turned, and the cold was starting to nip at any exposed skin. The mornings were frosted, and it wouldn’t be long until the first snow.

I could only hope that my boys would survive the cold and the faeries.

* * *

 

“Oh, we can’t let her sit next to him. They’d rip each other to shreds, and then we’d have blood ruining the table linens.” Beneath her pale, blue-gray hood Ianthe furrowed her brow, crinkling the tattoo of the various stages of a moon’s cycle stamped across it. Zoya would have appreciated the tattoo. Ianthe scribbled out the name she’d dashed onto one of the seating charts a moment before.

Ianthe’s silver rings gleamed as she wrote another name down on the seating chart. “It’s like a game,” she said, sighing through her pert nose. “All these pieces, vying for power or dominance, willing to shed blood, if need be. It must be a strange adjustment for you.”

For all of their wealth and beauty—the fae savagery remained. Feyre flexed her hand, watching her tattoos contort.

“Humans aren’t much better,” Feyre said at last. “My sisters Nesta and Zoya would likely fit right in.”

Ianthe cocked her head. “Will your mortal kin be joining us?”

“No.” Feyre hadn’t thought to invite them—hadn’t wanted to expose them to Prythian. Or to what she’d become.

Nesta would find it unforgivable and Elain would be shocked down to her bones.

Zoya would probably swear at her for getting herself killed and proceed to harvest Tamlin’s golden fur.

Ianthe tapped a long, slender finger on the table. “But they live so close to The Wall, don’t they? If it was important for you to have them here, Tamlin and I could ensure their safe journey.”

“For all that Nesta and Zoya would be able to hold their own,” Feyre said, “my sisters detest your kind for taking me.”

“Our kind,” Ianthe corrected quietly. “We’ve discussed this.”

Feyre just nodded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not updating recently. I just got settled in at college.


	24. Chapter Twenty Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, please excuse any errors, I banged this out in about 30 mins and my life is hitting the fan with exams.

Another week.

Another week of no news from Feyre.

Her chances of being alive were plummeting with each hour. My chances of getting a new golden rug out of the High Lord’s coat increased with each day. If he’d hurt Feyre—

If any of them had hurt Feyre—

The Wall wouldn’t be enough to stop me again. I’d ripped through Naga, I’d rip through the rest of them too.

“Girl.”

I’d happily die doing it too if I could cause a fraction of the pain they subjected Feyre to—my little sister to.

“Girl.”

I’d march the men training in my yard north with my ash and see how the faeries liked the taste of their own medicine.

“Girl!”

I wheeled arounds towards the annoying noise. Some old fat man was standing in my drawing room dressed in a nice suit that might have fitted him when he was half is current weight. There was a six-pointed star attached to his suit lapel. I couldn’t read the script etched into it from this distance, but I knew it was there—industry, integrity, unity. He was a member of The Council—a guild for the ruling class of merchants in Amre—and he was here by my invitation.

“Are you deaf or dumb? Get me a hot cup of tea and be quick about it!” He snapped, spittle spraying onto my family’s beautiful rug. “I have a meeting with Lady Zoya Archeron in five minutes.”

Three minutes, actually, according to my plain brass pocket watch—and my watch was never wrong.

I turned to the tea set that Daisy had been kind enough to lay out and started pouring him a cup. The man invited himself into a chair at the head of the table and began fixing imaginary problems with the cutlery.

“Hurry up girl!” He snapped, straightening the lapels of his suit—struggling to make them fit around his body.

I fought the evil grin that was threatening to creep onto my face. This could be fun.

I smiled prettily at him and reached for the porcelain salt shaker—unscrewing it. “What are you doing?” He snarled at me, his eyes bulging out of his skull.

I fixed my eyes to his as I dumped the salt into his tea and started stirring it in. “What’s your name girl?” The man was growling now—a piss poor attempt at intimidation. “I’ll be reporting you to Lady Archeron!”

I quietly placed a mini scone on the saucer next to his tea and placed it in front of him on the table. “My name is Zoya Archeron,” I picked up a napkin from the table and gently tucked it into the man’s collar as he went sheet-white, “welcome to my home.”

I’d never seen a grown man try to hide in his own suit before. It was beautiful.

I set myself down at the other head of the obnoxiously long table. The large man looked even smaller from here. “Aren’t you going to try your tea?” I smiled encouragingly as the man started to break a sweat. “It’s rude to refuse hospitality.”

The saucer and cup clinked together dangerously as the man’s hand’s shook. He took a minuscule sip of the tea and grimaced at the taste. “Delicious,” he forced out, face still contorted.

I frowned down the table at him. “I’m sorry…what was that?” I tipped my voice into a false falsetto. “I couldn’t hear you…perhaps if we were closer.” I smiled and patted the chair on my left invitingly. It was an effort to stop my laughter as the man looked dismayed at the prospect of moving.

His chair groaned awkwardly on the floor as he pushed it out and began tottering towards me. “Don’t you want your tea Master Fowl?” I asked, cocking my head in false confusion. The man grimaced but didn’t dare complain, only grabbing the tea and taking it with him

He settled himself into his new chair with a fair amount of heavy breathing and pulling at his too-small suit. He let out a loud grunt and a bit of spittle dripped out of the side of his mouth. It seemed fitting that a man named “Fowl” was one of the most foul people I’d met. Then again, considering his bank account it wasn’t surprising that he was allowed to get away with so much.  

Today had been a good day so far—I’d had some extreme suppressed rage and now I was torturing someone who thought they were better than me. All I needed was Nesta to fall down a flight of stairs and Anika to greet me in some scandalous clothing and I’d be set for the best day of my life.

“So…” the man huffed out as he settled himself down.

“So…” I parroted uselessly. Master Fowl grimaced at my lack of manners and rummaged onwards.

“Both you and your father have been some of the fastest merchants on the rise in history.” I basked in the praise. We were rather magnificent. The man seemed to brighten at my change in stature and tried again.

“It’s very impressive, especially considering were you came from.” My blood went cold and I fixed a blank look on my face. “Right down the road, you mean?” I asked vacantly, my voice cold as ice.

The man went stock-still. “N-no, I-I merely meant how poor you were…” I glared at him and watched him wither. No one—no one had the right to talk about our poverty like they knew anything about it. None of them would ever understand what my family had gone through. It took essentially selling off my little sister to some High Lord faerie above The Wall to solve our problems—I doubted the other merchants had such interesting tales of their rise to wealth.

I shook my head slowly at Master Fowl. “I gave you a perfect out to avoid a stumble like that. But look at you—blundering through the world because you think your bank account makes up for it.” Fowl opened up his mouth to try and fix the situation again.

“Why did you want to meet me?” I asked, cutting off what would have doubtlessly been a piss poor explanation for his words.

“You invited me here,” he pointed out.

“Yes, I did,” I agreed. “But the guild sent a letter requesting a meeting with myself and my father.”

“Yes,” Fowl said, straightening out his suit lapels—a nervous tick. “Where is your father?” He asked, scanning as if expecting my father to burst out from one of the room’s cupboards in a cloud of glitter with a loud shout of “SURPRISE.”

“He’s abroad,” I supplied flatly, breaking the man’s dreams. “I’m meeting with you on both of our behalves.” Fowl looked devastated at not having another old white man to talk about money with. I doubted that bartering with girls a third of his age was what he was used to.

 “In that case—” Fowl paused to straighten his suit lapels “—I am here on behalf of the guild to invite you and your father to join our ranks.”

He said this as though it should be an earth-shattering revelation. I wasn’t sure why—I certainly wouldn’t be weeping an tears of joy because a pompous group of men decided to invite me into their little club. My father would be honored though.

“—that being said,” Fowl continued, no doubt making everything worse in that way of his, “we have heard of some rumors about you…about your…ah…tendencies.”

It felt like being dunked into a bucket of ice. Had that spot on the tablecloth always been there?

“My tendencies?” I could only hope he didn’t hear the shake in my voice.

“Yes, and you will have to disavow them if you are to join the guild.” Master Fowl was smiling now—the first time he’d done so since he’d been in a room with me. He was enjoying this—me—pinning me into a corner and watching me struggle against blind panic.

“What tendencies?”

“Oh, my dear girl,” he chuckled as I bristled at the endearment. I’d been in charge for a few minutes and now I was paying dearly for it. “Surely you must know that we knew about your, ah, nighttime activities as a fighter. The Demon—” he crinkled his nose as though he thought the name childish “—must cease to exist.”

A little feeling returned to my legs—he didn’t know. They didn’t know about Anika. That was something at least. In my musings as a child I’d always assumed that as the “Queen of Merchants” I’d be the head of the guild—richer and more powerful than them all. A woman standing triumphant at the top of a men’s world. The guild had power—they could make or break my wealth. They could make or break the new trade routes I was working on with other merchants.

As much as I hated the guild now that I knew them—I needed them.

I need the power and leverage they would offer me.

But to cut off my fighting? To leave that world—

I’d be trapped—I’d be selling off a part of me, a part of me that had kept me sane when I killed Gilan in those woods and let Feyre go to her High Lord.

The guild would be a cage—but I needed them to advance. I couldn’t work through my father forever.

I’d be the second woman to ever warrant an invitation into the guild. I’d have power there—real power to shape the world’s trade to my favor.

I could build an empire and suffocate in my new life.

I could be rich enough to buy the world but not my fighting.

But I’d have Anika—they weren’t asking me to give up that.

“Do we have an agreement?” Fowl asked with a sickly smile. A little bit of spittle was running out of the side of his mouth.

I nearly chocked on the words I forced up. “I would be honored to join the guild.”

* * *

 

“Don’t be nervous,” Alis clucked, her tree-bark skin rich and flushed in the honey-gold evening light.

“I’m not,” Feyre rasped.

Alis looked at her disbelievingly. “You’re fidgeting like my youngest nephew during a haircut.” Alis finished fussing over the tulle monstrosity that was Feyre wedding dress and stepped back to appraise her.

“You look beautiful,” Alis said quietly.

“Thank you.”

“And you sound like you’re going to your funeral.” Feyre plastered an empty grin on her face and Alis rolled her eyes. “It’ll be over faster than you think,” Alis promised, nudging Feyre towards the doors.

Three hundred people rose to their feet and pivoted towards Feyre.

Not since her last trial had this many gathered to watch Feyre. To judge her. Their faces blurred, melded.

Alis coughed lightly and Feyre remembered to start walking, to look towards the dais—

At Tamlin.

He was resplendent in a tunic of green and gold, a crown of burnished laurel leaves gleaming on his head. He’d loosened the grip on his glamour, letting his immortal beauty shin through.

His wide eyes glistened as Feyre stepped on the soft grass—rose petals scattering down on it—

Red ones.

They were drops of blood against the white petals, sprayed across Feyre’s path ahead.

Feyre forced her head up and began walking. Each step was too fast.

Ten steps from the dais, at the edge of a splatter of red, Feyre slowed.

Then stopped.

Everyone was watching her, exactly the way they had been when she’d died.

“Feyre,” Tamlin said, his hand steady as he reached for hers. The sun sank past the lip of the western garden wall; shadows pooled, chilling the air.

Help me. Help me, help me, help me, Feyre begged. Save me—please, save me. Get me out. End this.

Tamlin took a step forward—concern shading his eyes.

Feyre retreated a step.

Tamlin’s mouth tightened. The crowd murmured. Silk streamers laden with globes of gold faelight twinkled into life above and around us.

Ianthe said smoothly, “Come, Bride, and be joined with your true love. Come, Bride, and let good triumph at last.”

Feyre tried to draw air so she could voice the word. No—no.

But she didn’t have to say it.

Thunder crackled behind her.

People screamed, falling back, a few vanishing as darkness erupted.

Through the night drifting away like smoke on a wind, there was Rhysand straightening the lapels of his black jacket.

“Hello, Feyre darling,” he purred.


	25. Chapter Twenty Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this is a short one. Naturally I've had five exams in the past two weeks and even more next week. I'll try to get another one out sooner next time.

“You need to stop jigging your leg.”

“Why?” I demanded, heating up.

Anika rolled her eyes at me. “Because every time you do it, you shake my leg, and then I can’t read my book, which is resting on my leg.”

“But consider this,” I said, continuing to jig my leg, “I’m bored.”

“But consider this,” Anika countered, not looking up from her book, “I want to read my book.”

I kept jigging my leg.

“My love for you is completely dependent upon whether or not you stop jigging your leg.”

I stopped jigging my leg.

I spent another five minutes staring out the carriage window. It wasn’t technically a long ride from our house to Lord Nolan’s house but Elain insisted that we show off to make a good impression.

“You need to fight,” Anika stated.

“I don’t need to fight,” I argued automatically.

I needed to fight.

I needed the guild’s influence.

I wanted more money.

“Whatever you say.”

A few more heartbeats passed as the world slogged by. Life had started flowing more slowly once I stopped fighting—my life was stuck in a rut. I felt like I was going nowhere.

“Why did you drag me into this?”

“Because I like Elain, and Graysen deserves a better introduction to your family than just Nesta.” I repressed a smile at the idea of Anika being a member of my family. She had been for years by my standards, but it was nice to see her getting along with Elain.

Lord Nolan’s house finally wheeled into view. I didn’t even wait for the footmen to open my carriage door—simply jumping out once the carriage came to a halt. Anika waited for one of the footmen to offer a proffered hand to her.

“How serious do you think this is?” Anika asked, “I don’t know how this whole ‘high class’ flirting thing works.”

“And I do?”

“You now more than I do,” Anika said, gathering up her floaty skirts and breezing towards the house. She still had her dancer’s grace despite the months she’d spent away from her old job. I took a moment to admire the way she navigated the gravel pathway in high heels. Even Elain was clutching on to Nesta for balance.

“Yes…it’s the equivalent of fucking in a back ally in the red-light district.”

“So in two months we’ll get a letter saying that Elain is pregnant and to keep it hush-hush until after the rushed wedding.”

“Yeah, the difference is that the letter will be on nice, expensive stationary.”

I walked Anika up to the doors of the great mansion. Elain was all but bouncing on her heels as the doors swung open and Nesta looked ready to kill. Graysen was on the other side of those doors, not some footman.

Elain swooned.

“Hi,” she smiled, going beet-red.

“Hello,” Graysen smiled down at her.

Anika leaned over to me as the two of them just stared at each other. “That is the singular most sexless greeting I’ve ever seen.”

I suppressed a snort with a cough. Nesta shot me a dirty look.

I leaned back towards Anika. “I don’t think that Nesta approves of the word ‘sex’ being said within a league radius of Elain.”

It was her turn to suppress a snort. “I don’t think I do either to be fair.”

Graysen had finally stopped looking lost in Elain’s eyes like some dumb fairy tale. “Zoya,” He said warmly, offering a proffered hand to me. I gave him a firm shake and a warm smile.

It wasn’t normal for an upper class man to greet an upper class woman with a handshake—it was a sign of respect. I was an equal to him.

He turned to Anika and flashed her a kind smile. “And may I have the pleasure of knowing your name?”

“Anika.”

He furrowed his brow. “No last name?”

Anika offered him a bland smile that told him not to push the topic. “Nothing important.”

Graysen…bless him…got the message. He moved on to Nesta.

Archeron would be a great last name for Anika to show off.

He took Nesta’s hand and brushed a kiss against her knuckles. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Nesta.”

Why would it ever be a pleasure to see Nesta?

Nesta just dipped her head in response and continued glaring imperiously down at the rest of us. Graysen didn’t even notice—he just linked his arm with Elain’s and lead her into the house. The rest of us followed them into the house.

The interior of the house was decorated expensively but not tastefully. It could do with Elain’s touch. Or Nesta’s touch—she was good at this sort of thing too.

Or Anika.

Anyone but him and his father, basically.

Lunch was simultaneously a light-hearted and dark affair. Elain was all sunshine and smiles. Graysen was all polished chivalry. Nesta was a storm cloud on her end of the table.

I was trying to get Anika to pay attention to me by gently kicking her under the table.

It didn’t work.

I spaced out and sipped my tea. Every now and then I would catch Nesta’s eye and we would glare at each other. I’d always break eye contact first—I didn’t care. I had nothing to prove to Nesta.

“So, what have you been doing recently?” Graysen asked—classic useless upper-class gibberish.

“Not much,” I said with a mindless smile. “But Elain’s just started up a brand-new vegetable patch. Within the year we’ll be able to use our own produce for cooking instead of buying it.”

Elain glowed at the reminder of her work and Graysen swung back to her. He was impressed. He took off on interrogating her about her vegetable patch and Elain beamed brighter at each question.

Anika leaned over to me. “If your idea of ‘not much’ is running your mouth and getting accepted into the most prestigious merchant’s guild in the world I’d hate to see what you do when you’re busy.”

I smirked devilishly and glanced around the table. “You know better than anyone when I consider my mouth busy.”

Anika’s knee hit the table.

Everyone stared at her.

“That was me,” I offered. I truly was a merciful god.

They all dismissed it. Even Graysen who didn’t know me that well simply decided to consider this behavior normal.

I waited for everyone to become re-interested in their food, the attractive young lordling they were courting, or staring off vengefully into space like Nesta was.

I was looking less and less like the ugly duckling of the family if Nesta kept up this behavior.

“When we get out of here I’m going to eat you alive.”

This time my knee hit the table.

No one bothered to look disappointed with me this time.

I glanced over at her. “I’m going to give you a last name to be proud of.”

Her eyes lined with silver and she slipped her hand into mine under the table.

* * *

 

“I know my alphabet,” Feyre said sharply as Rhys laid a piece of paper in front of her. “I’m not that stupid.” She twisted my fingers in my lap, then pinned her restless hands under her thighs.

“I didn’t say you were stupid,” he said. “I’m just trying to determine where we should begin.” Feyre leaned back in the cushioned seat. “Since you’ve refused to tell me a thing about how much you know.”

Feyre’s face warmed. “Can’t you hire a tutor?”

He lifted a brow. “Is it that hard for you to even try in front of me?”

“You’re a High Lord—don’t you have better things to do?”

“Of course. But none as enjoyable as seeing you squirm.”

“You’re a real bastard, you know that?”

Rhys huffed a laugh. “I’ve been called worse. In fact, I think you’ve called me worse.” He tapped the paper in front of him. “Read that.”

A blur of letters. Her throat tightened. “I can’t.”

“Try.”


	26. Chapter Twenty Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this took so long. I loaded myself up with 24 credit hours and now I feel like i'm dying 24/7 and I promise to update more next week around thanksgiving. This chapter is short, but I'll try and get out a long one next week.

“Graysen said that he’ll take me to the continent to see the tulip fields in spring.” Elain was sighing and staring dreamily into space. Her eggs had long since gone cold in front of her and she was animatedly twirling a stray curl of her hair. Elain had prattled endlessly about Graysen for the past week.

I’d give the rich boy this—he knew the way to my sister’s heart: plants. All the glittering emeralds in our family’s trove did not compare to the basil growing in our greenhouse.

Ever since the frankly unenthusiastic lunch at Lord Nolan’s residence it had become a weekly thing for some inexplicable reason. Nesta hated leaving the quiet of the library and spending time around me. She’d said all of two sentences to me since our argument.

So tragic.

Graysen was nice enough to me—as I was a member of the guild now, he was more or less required to be nice to me. He wasn’t required to be nice to Anika. That put him on my shit list.

He’d gathered that she had been lower-class and hadn’t said a word to her since. Ironic, considering that he seemed to hang on Elain, who had lived in poverty for a time. It was almost as good as Nesta trying to marry a woodcutter’s on.

“That’s nice,” Anika said flatly. It was her new response to all things Graysen.

It was my new response too.

“I thought you were going to the continent with Father to see those flowers,” Nesta remarked flatly. She wasn’t accusing—she didn’t care enough to be. Elain looked momentarily crestfallen.

“I can go with Father and Graysen, Nesta,” she chided.

“And watch Father rip into Graysen?” I asked through a mouthful of tart. The cooks had been outdoing themselves as Elain’s gardens had started yielding fruit. Unfortunately, we couldn’t eat tarts indefinitely, so the mercenaries who’d made a permanent home on our grounds were receiving a steady stream of fruit tarts and pies.

“Father won’t rip into Graysen,” Elain dismissed with a slight wave of her hand. “He likes him.”

“Father doesn’t know that Graysen wants into your pants.”

Elain tinted pink. “I don’t wear pants, I wear dresses.”

“Even better—easy access.”

Elain flicked a crumb from one of the tarts at me. “Don’t be vulgar.”

I stuck out my tongue at her, prompting an eye roll from Anika and a playful glare from Elain. “I hear that he gets particularly heated during—”

I ducked just in time for a tart to go sailing over my shoulder and looked up at my twin in alarm. “And _you_ lecture _me_ about being lady-like?”

She shrugged carelessly, not looking remotely abashed. Anika was smiling again now that Graysen wasn’t being discussed.

The man cared for my sister but in every other respect he was a high-born ass with too much money.

“Stop being childish,” Nesta, the family’s ever-present pit of darkness, clicked at us.

Elain had the audacity to look abashed and smooth out her dress and fix her posture. I tossed my leg over the arm of my chair and crammed another tart into my mouth. Nesta’s fire and brimstone glare fixed itself to me.

How scary.

What would she do? Attack me with a butter knife?

There was a light knock at the door and Anna walked in. She looked the same as ever—neatly pressed and timid, the perfect little serving girl.

She didn’t bother with Elain or Nesta.

“Master Fowl is waiting for you in the meeting room.” I grimaced but hauled myself out of my chair. It was better to not to keep him meeting. The man was a pain in the ass. But he was a powerful pain in the ass with a substantial bank account.

Our first encounter had left us both strained past our breaking points.

Master Fowl was vile and pompous as ever. His abnormally small hands were clutched tightly around a teacup from one of the fine sets that Elain insisted on importing from Amre’s artist district. I’d need to throw out the cup after he left—no one needed to touch where that man’s mouth had been.

I pitied his wife.

“Master Fowl,” I greeted.

He grunted in return.

He was one of the men who lived in Amre—a heaven for vagrants like myself, who believed in equality—a retained the old-fashioned belief that women were unworthy of men’s time. It wasn’t like women had birthed the entirety of the human race or that we contributed anything to society. 

Oh no…we were just pretty things to stare at. Except me—I wasn’t pretty and therefore not worth the time it would take for him to talk to me and bribe me into his bed.

I settled myself across the table from him. He hadn’t attempted to sit at the head of the table this time, so maybe there was hope to housetrain him. “I want you to stop planning your new trade route to the continent.”

I blinked.

“No.” That trade route was the closest I’d ever come to having a child and would ever come. It wasn’t exactly like I could spawn my own gremlin with Anika. On a biological level I’d been informed by countless matrons that a man was usually involved in the production of offspring.

I’d poured hours of my life into that. It was mine. Also a few other merchants had stakes in it, but for all intents and purposes—it was mine.

Fowl looked up to me, a line of spittle was slipping out the side of his mouth. It only added to the mental image I had of him as a large toad in my head. He glared up at me through beady little eyes.

His mouth stuck out mockingly at my protest. “You will stop planning that trade route,” he said slowly, enunciating each word as though he were talking to a particularly stupid toddler.  

“Why?” I challenged. Too hard—I’d worked too damn hard to get the route planned and to get other merchants involved.

“Because it is in the best interests of the council that the current trade routes remain intact and unchallenged.”

Heat flared in my chest—white hot and roiling. My hands started shaking. They were eager to plant themselves firmly into the soft tissue of his stomach and to see if his arrogance held when his insides were smashed into a meaty pulp.

“The council’s interests or your interests?” Stupid—it was stupid to challenge him.

Fowl glared at me, insulted that I’d even challenged him. “My interests are the council’s best interests.” He licked his lips in what he must have assumed was an attractive way and glared at me. “Besides, it looks like your family has money to burn. Look at all those young men you have out there—” he waved briefly to what he must have assumed was the direction of the barracks but was actually the vague direction of the pig pen, “—you’ve hired them to, what? Run around and look pretty?”

“Don’t confuse the arrangement I have with my soldiers with the one you have with your wife.”

The words were out before I could care to stop them. Curse my brawler’s mouth. Curse my history of following every taunt with a well-aimed fist. My words hadn’t had consequences for a long time and the maniacal glint in Fowl’s eye was a sure-fire hint that they would now.

He leaned forward and smiled cruelly at me. A predator of the worst kind—impervious to attack and without a moral code. “I don’t Miss. Archeron. I confuse it with the one you have with the pretty little blonde.”

My heart seized in my chest. I forced my breathing to slow and even.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”

Fowl smiled at me once again. With the lighting from the candles he looked almost like what would happen if a corpse was left to rot in the sun for a few days. “I can hardly blame you. If she weren’t a servant, perhaps, I’d be sleeping with her as well.”

_Servant._

The word clanged through me.

My hand shook harder than ever, fingers twitching with the urge to wrap themselves around his throat.

Anika was many things—my friend, my lover, my unilateral support system. But most importantly, she was my equal. She was better than me, and she drove me to be better.

_Servant._

Fowl’s eyes narrowed, examining me with a sadist’s stare, picking me apart. Picking at my weak spots. “The council will not question my judgement to cast you out on the basis of your—ah—nightly activities.” His wide mouth pulled back at the edges. Smiles did not look natural on his face, they were more akin to mechanical movements than any human emotion. “There were rumors of your unsavory relationship with a blonde girl from the slums. There were rumors that you brought her North with you, into a land where your abnormality is not protected by the law.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The words sounded feeble to my own ears—the dying whimper of an animal that knew it was living on borrowed time.

“Don’t you?” Fowl cackled, his old face stretching awkwardly over his bones, as though smiling and laughing was a learned movement to him instead of a borne one. “Why the pretty little thing was just in here. Don’t think I didn’t see the way she behaved with you in the drawing room…ignoring your sisters. Tell me, do your sisters know of your adultery?”

“Adultery?” I snorted. “I wasn’t aware that I was married.” _Deflect_ the voice in my head pleaded incessantly. _Deflect_. Do not allow him to burrow any deeper through your armor.

He gaped up at me and let out a mad bark of laughter. “You are betraying your future husband, silly girl, by allowing yourself to defile your mind and body with this girl.”

The voice in my head changed, the demon welling and bubbling to the surface, _kill_. _Punch_. _Fight_. _Rip._

_Breathe. Don’t be stupid._

The monster sitting across from me looked at me like I was cornered prey—and I was. Anika. I’d go down swinging for her. I’d give up my fortune in a heartbeat for her, every carefully amassed penny.

I wouldn’t do that for any of my sisters except for Feyre.

Feyre who was stuck on the other side of The Wall with creatures who were more borne predator than I was.

Anika was in a slowly tightening noose as well…she could be hanged in the North for being with me. She could be killed for loving me.

The heavy silence was broken by Anna reentering the room to quietly refill our saucers of tea. I hadn’t touched a drop, but Fowl had guzzled his down and smacked his lips repeatedly in satisfaction before eyeing Anna.

“She’s very plain,” he said, assessing Anna with a critical eye. “Then again, I don’t imagine _you_ can afford to be selective in who you sleep with…looking the way you do.”

Save us all he thought I was sleeping with Anna…he thought that Anna was my lover. Not Anika. He didn’t know about Anika.

Some horrible part of me was immeasurably relieved that Anna would be hanged instead of Anika if it came down to it.

Anna scuttled out of the room at his words, eyeing me for any sign of distress.

I waved her out.

My little sister was on the other side of The Wall surrounded by the immortal enemies of humans. My other sisters were sitting ducks in the war that was inevitably coming. Anika could be put to death for loving me outside of the South. Anna was in danger because she was associated with me.

And this man had the gall to sit in front of me and urge me to cut off a trade route that I had spent the better part of a year investing in? For his own monetary gain?

_No._

If Feyre could fight the blight for her High Lord, I’d ruin everyone standing in the way of myself and Anika…starting with Fowl.

I let the Demon out.

Fowl didn’t have time to cry out before his face was smashed through Elain’s fine porcelain teacup. Blood seeped through the rich table cloth and over the ornate shard of glass.

His hair came out of his scalp in chunks as I brought his head down with a sickening wet _squelch_ against the glass shards. Again, and again, and again.

It felt good.

It felt so good to _hurt._

I stopped when he stopped whimpering and hung limp across the table, blood and spittle streaming out of his mouth in equal measure.

“You will not touch me. You will not touch my family. You will not touch my business.”

It wasn’t a request. It was an order.

If Fowl was so tangled up in the council’s interests, he would be removed.

If he was attempting to interfere in my life when my sister was North of The Wall and bleeding for her loved ones he’d bleed twice as much.

If he tried to hurt my family, I’d dismantle him…brick by brick if need be.


	27. Chapter Twenty Seven

“You had to break my teacup.”

“He was annoying me,” I argued, petulantly sticking out my bottom lip. Nesta had accused me of acting like a toddler the moment I hit four, there was no way I’d give up that title now.

“She threw away the rest of the set too. And the tablecloth,” Anna added unhelpfully. Elain glared at me with as much force as she could muster. Anna grinned stupidly at the dumbstruck look on my face.

 _I’ll kill you_ , I mouthed.

Elain slapped my arm. “Don’t worry about her. Worry about me. You know I loved that set! I loved that tablecloth too!”

“I’ll buy you a knew one?” I offered pathetically. Anika was lounging in one of our many squishy, opulent chairs, watching Elain tear into me.

“Why did you throw them out?”

“Master Fowl got himself all over them.”

Elain and Anika frowned in unison. “Like…figuratively?” Anna, helpfully, stepped in and made the situation worse for the second time that night.

“No, he got his blood all over them because Zoya broke his face with a teacup.” Elain gaped. Anika smirked and buried herself back into her book. My stupidity was old hat for her. She was probably the only person apart form Feyre who’d put up with my shit with no protests.

Actually no…Feyre would protest. Anika would sit back and laugh at my stupidity. She’d probably encourage me to do whatever I was doing and sit back with a good drink.

Feyre…there was still no progress with finding the hole in the Wall again. None of my scouts could locate it, all we could seem to find was a truly appalling number of Naga and one thing that killed a patrol of twelve. We didn’t know what it was—the one survivor could only rock back and forth. He hadn’t said a word.

“Zoya!” Elain snapped her fingers to get my attention. How _very_ unladylike. Graysen would be appalled.

Good girl.

“You got into a fight with the head of the guild you’re a member of?”

Bad girl bringing that very good point up.

“The word ‘fight’ implies that he was able to put up some form of struggle,” I muttered.

Elain’s jaw dropped. “You’re just brushing this off? What happens when he comes after you? After us?”

“He does that, and I’ll kick his balls back up into his abdominal cavity.”

“Oh please…like you’re capable of that.” Right…she still believed the working girl theory that Neta had formulated all those years ago. It was still a bizarre thought; someone paying to have sex with me.

“I swear I’ve done it before with a large amount of success.” Darius still hadn’t forgiven me for that. He swore that he’d gotten it fixed but I had yet to sell a bill from a healer. It had been an honest accident; our fight had gotten very heated and I had bet good money on myself. Needless to say, I won. He’d blacked out on the spot. It was a serious design flaw in men that there was such an obvious way to end them.

Elain rolled her eyes for a number that was fast becoming sky-high. “Take this seriously…he comes after you or us; what do you do?”

I gave a shrug as Anika looked over the rim of her book. Her eyes were asking a different question; what happens when he comes after the two of us?

The answer for all of these questions was the same. “I’ll dismantle his wealth and empire and his life along with them. I don’t tolerate vengeful assholes.”

“Yeah, like you’d ever be able to do that,” Elain dropped her head in defeat. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

Elain grabbed her book and teacup and made for the door, Anna followed her out. She’d started looking uncomfortable around the same time Elain pointed out how serious the comical situation really was.

“Are you mad at me?”

Anika looked up at me. “Why would I be mad? I know better than anyone that you can keep your promise to dismantle him.”

“Don’t rely on me to keep you safe. Do you remember what I said a while back about you and Darius getting on a ship and heading for where ever is as far away as possible?”

“I don’t need you to keep me safe,” she folded her book’s page and set it down next to her drink.

“I know you don’t need me, I haven’t forgotten the time you shattered that one guy’s arm in The Pits for trying to feel you up or any one of the hundreds of other times I’ve seen you put people in their place.”

“I know you’re scared of somehow failing everyone…but there really isn’t anything you could do that would make you a failure to me. Our safety isn’t wholly your issue. Yes, on a lot of levels it is your responsibility, but in a much bigger and more important way you are not the only factor in our safety and frankly, there is so much in this world that you just can’t control.”

I let my shoulders slump and I took up Elain’s old chair. Anika slung her legs out and rested them on my lap. They were as muscular as they’d been months ago when she stopped dancing at The Menagerie. She could afford to take up ballet again with instructors. And although she didn’t talk about her practices when then went badly, I knew that she was frustrated by how hard it was to get back into pointe shoes. The big muscular people in The Pits were fighters, but they had nothing on dancers. Those crazy bastards would bandage up a broken foot and keep doing crazy leaps into the air. Fighters would sprain a shoulder once and you’d hear about it for the next eight years—especially about how it twinged in the cold.

“Tell me if I’m over stepping…”

“That’s a great way to start a conversation,” I muttered. Anika kicked me.

“Does this have anything to do with the attacks by The Wall? And Feyre?”

My chest hollowed out a bit at the mention of my little sister. We’d received no word—none. It had been months and my little sister had not sent news that she was safe. Had not sent news about the blight.

Every minute of everyday underneath the constant itch to fight, the need to watch the zeros build up in my bank account, and skip through the mansion’s meadows with Anika was the fear that the world would come crashing down around me. That Feyre was dead north of The Wall and away from home.

“It has everything to do with it. I’m too on edge to be reasonable or put up with anyone’s shit.”

* * *

 

Rhysand is interesting.

Rhysand is gorgeous.

Rhysand is flawless.

Rhysand is the most handsome High Lord.

Rhysand is the most delightful High Lord.

Rhysand is the most cunning High Lord.

Rhysand is possibly the most self-absorbed person I’ve met since Zoya. Everyday, each sentence had some new changing word of arrogance and vanity. And everyday the same simple set of instructions: shield up, shield down; shield up, shield down.

My nightmares left me groggy, sweaty—but the room was so open, the starlight so bright that when I’d jerk awake, I didn’t rush to the toilet. No walls pushing in around me, no inky darkness. I knew where I was. Even if I resented being there.

Rhy was sprawled out in his usual chair in the same clothes as yesterday. There were no wings this time, fortunately.

“It’s been a week,” I said by way of greeting. “Take me home.”

Rhys took a long sip of whatever was in his cup. It didn’t look like tea. It looked exactly like what Zoya would start drinking at four in the afternoon because, “ _any earlier than that and people, including myself, worry that I have a problem_.”

Rhy studied my teal and gold clothes, a variation f my daily attired. If I had to admit it, I didn’t mind them. “That color suits you.”

“Do you want me to say please? Is that it?”

“I want you to talk to me like a person. Stat with ‘good morning’ and let’s see where it gets us.”

“Good morning.”

A faint smile. Bastard. “Are you ready to face the consequences of your departure?”

I straightened. I hadn’t thought about the wedding. All week, yes, but today…today I’d only thought of Tamlin, of wanting to see him, hold him, ask him about everything Rhys had claimed.

“It’s none of your business.”

“Right. You’ll probably ignore it, anyway. Sweep it under the rug, like everything else.”

“No one asked for your opinion Rhysand.”

“Rhysand?” He chuckled, low and soft. “I give you a week of luxury and you call me Rhysand.”

“I didn’t ask to be here, or be given that week.”

“Any yet look at you. Your face has some color—and those marks under your eyes are almost gone. Your mind shield is stellar by the way.”

“Please take me home.”

He shrugged and rose. “I’ll tell Mor you said good-bye.”

“I barely saw her all week.” Just that first meeting—then that conversation yesterday. When we hadn’t exchanged two words.

“She was waiting for an invitation—she didn’t want to pester you. I wish she extended me the same courtesy.”

“No one told me.” I didn’t particularly care. No doubt she had better things to do, anyway.

“You didn’t ask. And why bother? Better to be miserable and alone.” He approached, each step smooth, graceful. His hair was definitely ruffled, as if he’d been dragging his hands through it. Or just flying for hours to whatever secret spot. “Have you thought about my offer?”

“I’ll let you know next month.”

He stopped a hand’s breadth away, his golden face tight. “I told you once, and I’ll tell you again,” he said. “I am not your enemy.”

“And I told you once, so I’ll tell you again. You’re Tamlin’s enemy. So I suppose that makes you mine.”

“Does it?”

“Free me from my bargain and let’s find out.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Can’t, or won’t?”

He just extended his hand. “Shall we go?”

I nearly lunged for it. His fingers were cool, sturdy—callused from weapons I’d never seen on him.

Darkness gobbled us up, and it was instinct to grab him as the world vanished from beneath my feet. Winnowing indeed. Wind tore at me, and his arm was a warm, heavy weight across my back while we tumbled through realms, Rhys snickering at my terror.

But then solid ground—flagstones—were under me, then blinding sunshine above, greenery, little birds chirping—

I shoved away from him, blinking at the brightness, at the massive oak hunched over us. An oak at the edge of the formal gardens—of home.

I made to bolt for the manor house, but Rhys gripped my wrist. His eyes flashed between me and the manor. “Good luck,” he crooned.

* * *

 

“I’m glad you came.”

“Yeah, you said something about your other guy going down a flight of stairs wrong and the other mercenary who helped your older sister wasting away?”

“Please don’t bring up the fact that I am related to Nesta any more than necessary Darius.”

“I need to meet this spitfire of a sister.”

I sighed and dragged Darius along one of the many neat, perfect gravel pathways crisscrossing our garden. “I really need that to not happen.”

“Why? Worried that I’ll hit it off with your older sister and end up being your big brother?” He cackled, waggling his brows at me. “I really need you not provide me with a mental image of Nesta in a wedding dress. You might have a chance, actually, because she once stooped to the level of the second son of a woodcutter.”

“Wow really? One of them rich Archeron sisters stooped to the level of the second son of a woodcutter?”

“This was back when we were slumming it.”

“Ah, yes, those infamous years when the Demon was terrorizing the red-light district and the great beast Nesta Archeron was wooing a woodcutter’s son.”

“Beast; yes. Great; no.”

“What was the woodcutter’s son called anyway?”  

“Tomas.”

Darus snorted. “I hope she called him ‘Tommy’ in private.”

“I hope you never bring up the topic of my sister in private again,” I muttered, dragging Darius around the corner of the mansion to what was now affectionately dubbed the “ugly part of the estate.” It was filled with sweaty mercenaries and big tents and enough ash weapons to wipe out an army of faeries.

I loved it.

Judging by the look on Darius’s face he loved the weapons too.

“Why do you want me here?”

“I want you to help me train these boys into fighting shape. They’ve gotten better at taking down Naga and other garden-variety horrors, but really they’re all just cannon-fodder.”

“Garden-variety horrors?” Darius snorted. “I wouldn’t even know where to start with one of the minor horrors you deal with, let alone training these people for something major. What happened with the mercenary you brought on board? The one who help Nesta get up to The Wall and helped get you down?”

“She was attacked a few months before I met her by a Martax. The attack left her with a limited amount of time, all her veins were going black and you could see him through her skin.” Darius nodded sagely, “I remember, you called them ‘cool if they weren’t life-threatening.’”

I slapped is arm. “Shut up. I don’t need people knowing that.” Darius grinned impishly—it was a weird expression on someone who objectively looked like something out of most peoples’ nightmares. My departure from Amre, and more specifically its red-light district, had left a power vacuum in The Pits. Darius had put on pounds of muscle and probably outweighed and outmuscled a bear at this point.

Needless to say, he’d filled my power vacuum.

I was like a proud mama.

But also a competitive mama? I was proud of my boy but damn if I didn’t want to beat the shit out of him to assert my dominance—never mind, that was abusive. I’d make a terrible mother.

“I need you here and training these boys because they will have the living shit pummeled out of them when they go out and fight these monsters, and hell if you don’t know a thing or two about fighting things which are stronger than you, and taking more than a few injuries and punches.”

Darius scowled, dragging his eyes away from the beautiful sight of thousands of pounds of weaponry half a garden away from us. “Are you implying that I’ve been beaten up a lot?”

“Yes,” I cackled impishly, “and that I’m the one who delivered those beatings.” The crack earned me an elbow in my ribs.

Darius snorted at me and tousled my hair absent mindedly. “Yeah girl, I’m happy to come up here and teach these boys how to fight for you. Especially if it means that I get to kick a lot of ass. Besides, that girl who helped me get my things off the carriage…”

“Anna,” I supplied.

Darius shrugged sheepishly; a look that was bizarre for a wall of muscle. “She’s cute.”

“Oh boy.”

“Shut up.”

We stood quietly for a moment watching the sweaty mercenaries run between tents—laughing and joking. They were all perfectly content in the knowledge that they could die on their next patrol and they were coping with the idea better than I was.

My hands shook slightly.

“It’s not the only reason I asked you to move up here.”

Darius quirked his brow at me. “What’s the other reason?”

“I’m losing it,” I whispered. “I need to fight.”

I pulled my hands out of their pockets and into the open: they were shaking hard. The cuts on them from smashing a teacup against Master Fowl’s face.

Darius whistled low and long at them—not the cuts; the shaking.

“You’re in a bad way.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“You heard anything from Feyre?”

“No. Not a thing.”


	28. Chapter Twenty Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what y'all think.

The tenth man ate dust too.

No one could hold a candle to Darius when it came to fighting. When it came to his looks however…I’d seen friendlier starved and blood-thirsty bears at The Pit’s yearly extravaganza. The owners occasionally brought in exotic animals for fighters to try their hand at fighting. I’d never come within a hundred feet of any of them.

“What did I do wrong this time?” He groaned, pulling himself out of the dust and cleaning himself. Darius lazily rolled out his shoulders, “You don’t move enough. It’s harder to hit a moving target.”

The man quirked a brow. “That’s the only thing I did wrong?” He asked incredulously.

Darius snorted and shook his head. “No but it’s the most important one. We fix that and then we worry about the rest.”

The man dusted himself off and lowered himself into a battle stance. I had to give him some credit—he was stubborn as a mule and determined to best Darius at least once. It would never happen. The man was proud and better than most sellswords, but he did not eat, breathe, and drink violence the way Darius did. The way I did.

The man steadied himself for the sixth time and rounded on Darius.

His approach was good—smooth, like a banner unfurling. His first punch was also good, slow, but he lent too low and found himself blocked easily by Darius.

Darius was clearly taking it easy on the man as they exchanged blows. He was moderating his speed and strength, but he was still leagues better than the man. “Too slow,” jeered Darius as he slid easily between the man’s jabs and punches, “don’t overextend yourself,” he corrected as the man swung too widely.

The “fight” went on for a few more beats before Darius swept the man’s feet out from under him and let him eat dirt again.

The men around the sides of the ring let out whoops and there was a smattering of applause. “Looked like you were getting somewhere there, mate!” Called out a freckled red head. He had a wide toothy grin that probably earned him no shortage of swooning girls.

Darius swung around to see the red head and gave him a shark’s smile. “You want to be next?” He purred; more predator than person. The red head staggered backwards. Darius gave him a wolfish grin. “If you think that was a proper fight, you’ve never seen me among my equals.”

I cleared my throat loudly. The men’s heads whipped towards me and a few of them gave hurried bows.

Darius coughed sheepishly, “and my betters.”

The man in the ring looked doubtful. “Lady Archeron can fight?” Darius’s jaw hung open and he whipped towards me. “You’ve never fought in front of this sorry lot? Didn’t you go on a scouting mission with a few of them a while back?” Darius turned to face the men, “she was the sole survivor and none of you considered the possibility that there was a reason for that?”

They looked down at their feet. Darius bowed mockingly in my direction and offered me a hand as though he were asking me to dance. “May I have this fight, my lady?”

I rolled my eyes and my shoulders and jumped the fence. My shoulders and hips fell into their old swagger as I approached Darius. I curtsied mockingly—probably the first time I’d curtsied in my entire life. “I’d be honored to accept.”

Darius moved faster than my eyes could follow, but my reflexes were still faster than my eyes. I caught his fist easily—the bones in my arm rattled at the force of it.

A low whistle from the crowd.

The space widened between the two of us as we paced back and forth; an old routine from The Pits. You make contact and then break.

There was a beat or two as the crowd murmured. From the corner of my eye I saw two heads of honey-brown hair; my sisters. Two of them, at least.

Darius lunged with another punch so swift most people would have had their heads spun around. But I dodged and caught his arm again, locking it into a bone-snapping hold. Darius’s face twisted in pain as I applied pressure. The tendons and veins popped in his neck and arm as he strained and my muscles burned.

_More, sang my blood, more, more, more…._

I slammed my knee upwards into the side of his head.

It was fast and brutal. The crowd was roaring as we broke apart. Out of the corner of my eye I could see that a golden head had joined my sisters. It was Anika. Darius righted himself, laughing—blood stained his teeth. It was the only break I gave him.

He moved before I did—fast and brutal and stronger than he’d ever been in the past. Whatever training he’d done in the months I’d been gone, whatever people he’d fought to become this strong…I pitied the poor bastards who’d gone up against him.

Punch after punch, block, lunge, duck…I took blows to the head and to my sides. Darius took more of them than I did; blood was dripping down my knuckles.

Sand sprayed around us and I wound up on top, driving my fist down into Darius’s face—

It gave a little just as he slammed me into the sand. I hit the ground and gasped for air as he attacked again.

One of his hands closed down on my throat as the other buried itself into my side—he knew Anika didn’t like my face too ruined. I felt a rib give—I was familiar with the feeling.

I twisted and the world blurred out of focus as my throat was crushed. My knee slammed into Darius’s stomach and his grip gave just enough for me to wrestle free.

I landed a kick to his stomach that sent him slamming into the wooden fence. He slumped, gasping for air and I came to my feet smoothly and flung out my arms, turning in a slow circle. The men let out screams and cheered wildly.

 _Yes_ , purred something in my chest, _more…more noise, more blood, more fighting…_

Across the training grounds my sisters were watching wide-eyed. Elain gripped the wooden fence with white knuckles. Nesta watched with a set jaw. Anika was grinning as she watched us. There was no reason for her to worry about me in this fight. In any fight, really.

Darius hurtled for me again, I slipped out of the way of his flying punches and threw a few of my own. I wrapped an arm around his neck and locked my arms into a hold not easily broken.

I twisted—and came up short as my arms found themselves straining against Darius’s bulk. My legs didn’t have time to find extra leverage as he kicked them out from under me and sent me plummeting to the ground.

I sprung away, and we circled again.

There was no trace of my friend in Darius’s cold eyes. I couldn’t imagine that there was any trace of myself in my own eyes.

“Come now Demon,” purred Darius, eyeing me with a wicked grin. “We both know you can do better.”

I sighed and back away. My outer coat fell away as I unbuttoned it and passed it off to Anika’s waiting hands. It was the same routine we’d had in just about every brawl I’d ever gotten myself into.

My strappy and backless top was the same type I wore in Amre, and it had the same benefit; my tattoo was on display. The demon’s gaping jaws and bloody eyes glared out at the spectators and gasps littered the crowd. My sisters’ jaws hung agape along with the mercenaries’—who knew that a proper little lady had tattoos like this?

Anika and Darius grinned at me.

I moved.

Darius wasn’t nearly fast enough to block the punch which slammed into his throat. Or the one which slammed into his stomach repeatedly. He doubled over. I ignored the fact that my knee felt as though it had been slamming into a stone wall.

Darius flung me back; blood was dripping from his forehead into his eyes.

He let out a low, vicious snarl.

There he was—a fighter deserving of the title of my replacement.

Faster than any human had a right to be, he swept out a leg, sending me tripping back. I found my balance and didn’t hesitate. I lunged with my fists.

Darius deflected one blow, my other hand pinned him, slamming his head into the sand damp with sweat and the blood of those men.

I brought my fist down into his face again and again and again…

Blood covered his face but he twisted, twisted with every bit of his hulking strength, and we went flipping across the arena. Darius flung me free but I landed on my feet, nimble as a cat.

Darius lunged again, swift and deadly as an adder. It was all I could do to dart backwards, dodging its swipe of his lethal hands.

He was damn fast. And one hell of a fighter.

He feinted and slashed right.

I ducked and rolled aside. I slowed my steps, let them all think I was tiring, growing clumsy—

Darius made the mistake of drawing in too close—of going for my neck.

It was almost too easy to pull hm into a choke hold and tighten my hold until Darius’s world went black and he knew no more.

I left him in the bloodied sand and walked over to where Anika was waiting for me. The men’s screaming applause didn’t matter as much as her laughing at me.

“Alright boys,” I called out to them, “show’s over. Go home.” The crowd immediately began to thin. No one seemed to be interested in defying me.

“Overdramatic much?” She teased, handing me back my jacket. My sisters looed thoroughly horrified at my antics. “You could have ended that in the first five seconds, his left side was way open,” Anika chided. She jerked her chin in Darius’s direction. “Are you just going to leave him there?”

I glanced back at him—unconscious in sand drenched with his own blood. “He’s had worse awakenings. Come on, it’s dinner time. Anna will have my head if we’re late.”

Anika stopped me. “Anna will have your head if you show up dirty and without, as she put it ‘the handsome tall one.’”

“I’m fairly certain she didn’t use the word ‘handsome,’” I muttered. Anika snorted.

“I’m trying to let her keep her public decency.”

“Come come now,” I purred, buttoning up my coat and heading back towards Darius’s prone form. “Give Anna the same public shaming that you give me.”

I could feel rather than see Anika smiling at me. I gave Darius a light kick to the side and he grunted. “Get up,” I ordered, “it’s dinner time.”

“Will the pretty blonde one be there?” He groaned into the dirt.

“You better not be talking about Anika.”

“No.” He sighed, making no move to peel himself out of the dirt. “An…An…something.” I rolled my eyes and somewhere off to the side Anika’s bell laugh rang out. “Don’t pretend you’ve forgotten her name Darius,” she called out.

I grunted in agreement as I started pulling Darius out of the dirt. “I bet you know her favorite color and flower by now, and don’t pretend otherwise.”

“Fine,” he muttered, hauling himself to his feet and gingerly touching the back of his head. “You have a mean kick Zoya.”

“I know,” I smirked. “We need to get you cleaned up. If my sisters went out of their way to find us it means that we’ve got company tonight, and if Elain’s blush is anything to go by it’ll be Graysen and Lord Nolan.”

Darius swaggered over to where my sisters stood. Blood was still running down his face and neck, it was dripping out of his knuckles as well. Purple was already coving parts of his face.

I probably looked just as bad.

“Will you two be able to look presentable by dinner time?” Elain asked as the two of us approached the fence, leaning on each other like a pair of drunken sailors. Nesta said nothing—she just glared. What a charming girl.

I gave a careless shrug. “I can put on makeup.”

Darius batted his eyelashes. “I’ll put on makeup too.” Anika let out an unladylike snort.

“I’ve got a nice red lipstick you can borrow.”

Elain looked torn between laughing and scolding us. “As long as you all look presentable for dinner I don’t care what you do.” Darius raised his brows at her.

“You say that, but I bet you’ll be appalled when I manage to fit into one of Zoya’s dresses.”

“I don’t own dresses,” I corrected. “You’ll have to borrow one of Anika’s.” Darius turned to Anika hopefully as Elain started giggling.

“They all have plunging necklines,” Anika said, linking her arm with Elain’s. “You’ll look every bit the risqué woman you’ve always wanted to be.”

“Do you ever shut up and take things seriously?” Nesta snapped, impetuous as ever. Elain had the nerve to look chastised. Darius and Anika kept their faces carefully blank. I wasn’t as nice.

“Do you ever take that pole that’s shoved up your ass out? The people around you might actually have a nice day if you did.”

If looks could kill; I might have a bloody nose—I’d stopped caring about Nesta’s opinions a long time ago.

“Zoya…” Elain breathed. “Don’t.”  

My twin looked like she was on the verge of either crying or hitting me. “Fine,” I turned to Nesta who still looked like she was hoping I would drop dead, “I’m sorry.”

I ducked under the wooden fence, Darius and Anika flanking me. “Tonight’s going to be awkward, isn’t it?” Darius asked, his hulking figure somehow moving lighter and smoother than most high-born girls.

“Unbearably so,” I muttered. “Graysen is nice enough to people with noble birth and money.” Anika and Darius exchanged a glance.

Tonight would be bad.

* * *

 

“So, Lady Zoya, what have you been doing these past few weeks?” Graysen asked, smiling warmly at me and pointedly ignoring Darius and Anika.

“Making myself obscenely wealthy and training my men.” He laughed easily.

“They made a good choice…putting you on the merchant council.” Graysen had his hands interlocked with Elain over the table, and my twin was all but glowing. Tonight’s dinner had been exquisite with Patmore’s cooking, and the soft candlelight that Anna had engineered using an array of gold and silver candles brought up from Amre.

Any time that Anna and the others came out to take away a course and replace it Darius would wink roguishly at her and make her flush beet-red.

“Thank you,” I replied mindlessly.

Graysen’s attempts at conversation were sporadic as all seemed to be able to pay attention to was Elain. Not that I blamed him.

I was poor company at best since he insisted on being poor company to Anika and Darius. Nesta wanted to watch the world burn because it annoyed her, but she would make polite, if minimal, conversation with Graysen for Elain’s sake—just like me.

At least we still had one thing in common.

“Would you excuse us?” My head shot up to look at Graysen.

“Pardon?”

He gave me a winning smile that set a blush on Elain’s cheeks. “Would you mind if Elain and I left for a walk through the gardens?”

I shook my head. “I’m not her keeper. Do what you please.” He gave me a small smile as he led Elain out of the dining hall.

“Well,” Darius said, stretching himself out. “That was really awkward. You don’t think my eye threw him off, do you?”

Anika and I rolled our eyes in unison. Darius’s eye had swollen shut at some point after our fight, Anna had offered ice to bring it down, but Darius had simply said that it didn’t bother him. Imbecile. He needed to stop being tough and start accepting medical help.

“I think it had more to do with your sparkling personality,” teased Anika.

“You two are too much,” I muttered, “come on. Let’s go drink and read in the library, try to get that fanciful man out of our heads.” Darius and Anika pulled themselves out of their chairs and all but fled the room. Nesta was still sitting motionless in her chair. “Do you want to come with?” I asked.

I didn’t want her to come with but that was besides the point.

“No,” came the flat answer.

“Alright,” I sighed, “suit yourself,” I said, turning to leave.

“Wait.” I turned around to face my older sister. “Why do you hate Graysen?” She asked; the longest thing she’d said to me in weeks. I’d be upset that she was speaking to me again if some deep, dark little part of me still didn’t want her approval and attention. If some little part of me still wasn’t the little girl that escaped lessons to sit in a maple tree—the tree that was currently tattooed into the skin of my shoulder.

“I liked him,” I said honestly and watched her brows shoot up in disbelief. “I met him at a party and introduced him to Elain because he had a sweet smile and didn’t seem like as much of an infant as the other highborn men.”

“What changed?”

I swallowed. “I kept on liking him and I liked his father, Lord Nolan, more for his ash trees and his shared hatred of the fae.” I glanced over to my older sister; who had braced her arms on the table at some point and was leaning forwards. “I still want every damn fae dead,” I muttered. “I’ll wipe them out for hurting Feyre, you know that.”

“Is that why you haven’t bothered trying to get her back again?” Sneered Nesta—her scornful words finding their mark. “Is that why you do nothing?”

I didn’t bother stopping my hand from slamming down onto the table, sending the plates rattling and cups falling over. Nesta flinched slightly and leaned back. “ _Yes_ ,” I hissed, “because charging blindly up towards The Wall has gone _so well_ in the past. I’ve lost men Nesta— _good_ men—men with families have been torn to bloody shreds by the monsters who live there. Hell, _I_ was ripped into bloody shreds.”

There were a few beats where neither of us yielded. “I stopped liking Graysen because of how he treats Anika. And I stopped liking you because you’re a vile bitch most of the time,” I snarled.

I didn’t give her a chance to respond.

Darius and Anika were reclining on couches in the library; both of them already well into their cups.

I didn’t bother finding a chair or a couch—I simply collapsed onto the floor with Nesta’s words burning a hole into my head.

“Oof,” Darius moaned, looking me over. “Bad time with the big sister?”

“Oof,” I mocked. “Bad time getting laid?” Anika giggled loudly; a bright flush working itself into her cheeks. She looked adorable—even if I was spitting mad.

“Alright,” Darius muttered, looking genuinely hurt. “No need to thoroughly ruin my pride. First you beat me in a fight,” he broke himself off to take a large swig of my good wine, “then you insult the fact that Anna has me tied up in knots.”

“Every girl you’ve ever met who’s looked at you twice has you tied up in knots,” muttered Anika, taking a swig of wine big enough to rival Darius’s. “Besides, Zoya does both of those things to you on a daily basis. Suck it up.”

Darius gave me a cursory look, “I don’t think I’m the one who needs to suck something up tonight.”

“Shut up,” I muttered, not bothering with a glass and swigging the wine straight from the bottle. I absently rolled my head towards Anika and let her card her fingers through my hair. “You’re in a mood,” she commented, “what are you thinking?”

I took another swig. “I’m thinking…that I’m going to need more alcohol and that I’m going to head up to The Wall tomorrow and see if I can’t gauge the current situation.”

Anika raised a brow at me. “Nothing goes well up by The Wall. If you go, be careful, please.”

“You say that to me before every fight I get into,” I murmured, stretching out my neck so that Anika had better access.

“You need to hear it before every fight you get into,” chided Darius, “reckless little shit that you are.”

“Yes mother,” I said blandly, finishing of the bottle and reaching for the next one.

“Fuck you,” slurred Darius.

“Oh my word,” I gasped, slapping my hand to my chest in a perfect imitation of Elain, “that’s just what my mother used to say to me.” That set the two of them of cackling madly. “You’re both too far into your cups.”

“No,” Darius disagreed on principle.

Anika nodded solemnly. “No such thing as too much.”

“You’re both insane…and I completely agree—”

“Shut up,” Darius cut me off.

I glared at him. “Excuse me? I can wipe the floor with you.”

“No, listen,” he ordered.

Faint, but distinct, footsteps were flying down the corridor. “It’s either very good news or very bad news,” Anika commented.

The door to the library and Elain hurtled in, dragging Nesta by her hand. Nesta looked disgusted by us; on the floor and flushed with wine. Elain didn’t care—she simply flung out her hand, her left hand.

An iron band glinted on her finger and Elain laughed breathlessly.

“He asked me to marry him. I said yes.”

 


	29. Chapter Twenty Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays! Let me know what you think about the story, I promise that we'll be seeing Feyre again soon.

“Do you have to go?” Elain asked, her big doe eyes looking up at me imploringly.

“Not really.”

“Zoya!” She scolded. “It’s my engagement party! And you want to go gallivanting up to The Wall?”

“It’s more a _need_ than a want. You see, I’m deathly allergic to social gatherings where I need to dress up and talk to people.” I argued, adjusting my stirrups—they were too damn long. Whoever had ridden this horse before me had been a damn giant—or just normal-sized.

“This is the fourth time in the past few months.”

“I’m making it a weekly occurrence like getting rip-roaring drunk with Darius and stealing your dresses to stuff him into.” Elain slapped my leg.

“Is that where my new rose printed dress went?”

I shrugged. “Honestly? No idea. Past eight at night I don’t remember much.” Elain sighed and shook her head. “Nesta’s right; you’re a lost cause.”

“Nesta’s right about a lot of things, like men smelling and the fact that it’s impossible to locate a single book in our library, but I’m not a lost cause. I’m more a…it-never-happened-in-the-first-place cause.” Elain sighed and kicked at a rock with her boots, I had to stifle a grin. Some “Lady” she was after I annoyed her. “I got you a very expensive present if it makes you feel any better.” She perked up immediately.

“What is it?”

“That would be telling,” I purred in what I hoped was a mysterious fashion before wheeling my horse around—one stirrup was still obnoxiously long—and setting off at a canter down the road out of the estate to where Darius and the others were waiting on me.

“No sweet, heartfelt send off from Anna?” I jeered as Darius continued staring at the doors of the mansion like he could will her into existence.

“Shut up.” A few of the men snickered. Darius shut them up with a glare. He’d probably thrown each one of them head-first into the dirt on some occasion. The group with us consisted of six men—all deemed by Darius to _probably not drop dead if they see a big creepy-crawly-fae-thingy_. One of them had been the one sparring with Darius during his first day on the job—I’d walked into the arena after him and beaten Darius to a pulp. Good times.

“What are all your names?” I asked, scanning the group and quickly singling out two of the older men, “I know who you two are.” The red-headed twins exchanged identical glances. While the two of them weren’t identical, their mannerisms were. It was like having the same person in two different bodies. Kilvin was slightly taller and freckled while Wilhelm was shorter and had skin the same color as snow, meaning that within an hour of being outside he would become the color of a tomato.

They were good fighters—reliable. They’d taken down a Naga together on our last trip up.

The man who Darius had sparred with answered first. “Gendry, Lady Zoya.” I shuddered.

“Just Zoya will do.”

The other boys answered one after the other.

“Jameson.”

“Balin.”

“Horace.”

I sized them up. They were all roughly half the size of Darius, which meant that they were large and muscled by normal standards. Horace looked like the head of a three-year-old had been plopped onto the body of a junior fighter. It was a weird combination.

“Alright,” I started. “Do what I do, and you probably won’t die. End of speech, let’s go.”

A few of them exchanged glances but I just wheeled my horse around and let him set off at an easy pace down the road. Darius caught up quickly; he was slightly off-kilter in his saddle but he’d only ever ridden mules for short spells in Amre. His riding skills would develop with time. “I think you’ve scared them.”

“I think they should be scared. Comfortable kills.” I answered smoothly, shortening my remaining stirrup to an acceptable length. “Especially when you’re dealing with things that quite literally want to suck our eyeballs out of our skulls.”

“Careful there,” Darius warned, gripping the saddle with one hand and the reins with the other to steady himself. “You might be too optimistic. Did you at least get a sweet farewell from Anika?”

I waggled my eyebrows lewdly and earned a cuff over the head. There were a few sharp intakes of breath from the boys. We ignored them. “It was glorious,” I purred, Darius squeezed his eyes shut and swayed dangerously in the saddle.

“Please, I am begging you, shut up.”

“I had her spread out like—”

Darius smacked the back of my head properly. “Cruel woman,” he scolded, ignoring the horrified gasps from the gaggle of boys behind us. “You need to learn to censor yourself.” I rubbed the now-sore back of my head absently. “I wouldn’t be half as fun if I did that.”

The day drifted by without further incidence, the boys trailed Darius and I without trouble and Darius didn’t topple out of his saddle when his horse spooked. It was a good day.

Kilvin and Wilhelm joked through most of the hours, keeping the less experienced boys’ heads away from what might be lurking along The Wall. For their joking and care-free exterior they both cared almost excessively about the people around them. They needed a raise. When night fell Kilvin got the fire started while Wilhelm flitted around camp helping the boys erect their tents and tie their horses correctly.

Darius and I finished quickly—we’d done this a fair amount—and settled down by the fire. It was more for cooking than for warmth. The light also helped some of the boys feel safer. Jittery sword hands made for sloppy fighting which made for a fast and brutal death.

Kilvin and Wilhelm set about cooking without being asked to, Darius quickly jumped in to help. I leaned back on a blanket I’d set out and relaxed. Horace and Balin could be heard sharpening their ash knives and stakes obsessively. They’d kept a death grip on the weapons all day.  Jameson quickly joined them.

Kilvin passed around dinner and raised an eyebrow when I left most of my plate uneaten, shoving it over to Darius instead. He wolfed it down with no problem.

“You nervous?” Kilvin asked, eyeing my plate. “You need to eat.”

“I’m nervous, but that’s not why I’m not eating.” The boys froze and Darius went right on eating—not bothered in the slightest.

“You’re nervous?” Gendry asked, looking disbelievingly at my languid form, stretched out over a blanket. Kilvin and Wilhelm also looked doubtful while the other three sat their with their jaws agape.

“You’d have to be an idiot not to be nervous. The fae are notorious bitches to put up a fight against.” I muttered, sticking my feet under one of Darius’s immense thighs to warm them up.

Gendry glanced down at his feet and moved to say something before seemingly thinking better of it. Darius noticed the movement too. “Spit it out, boy,” he ordered as he spooned himself another helping of stew and vegetables.

“What—what happened on the first trip up to The Wall? Where you were the only one that came back?” Darius stopped inhaling his soup long enough to give me a sideways glance. He knew what had happened.

He knew that I’d led Will and Adam and Gilan into a bloodbath. He knew that I’d shoved my dagger through Gilan’s head like he was nothing more than a horse that had broken a leg. I’d done it while he’d screamed and begged for his life—and felt absolutely nothing.

I rolled my shoulders out and sighed. “We ran into maybe ten Naga, it’s hard to count when things move that fast. It was an ambush and we should have trusted our horses when they got jittery but we just assumed it was The Wall—animals hate it. Adam and Will took on one each, Gilan tried for two; the idiot.” Gendry flinched. “I took down about six with my ash blades. They worked magnificently—ash cuts through the fae like butter and it works even better it you leave it in them, it saps their strength. I finished with them just in time to see Will and Adam being torn to shreds after they tried to run. I took care of the two Naga but not fast enough to save them, Will and Adam died fast.”

Horace and Jameson had silver lining their wide eyes. Gendry looked struck dumb while Kilvin and Wilhelm both wore deep scowls. Darius was munching his way through his third serving. Blood and death didn’t really hold the same gravity for the two of us.

“What about Gilan?” Gendry asked, his voice shaking. I quirked a brow.

“Did you know him?” Gendry just nodded mutely, his lower lip starting to wobble.

“I found him at the base of a rowan tree—” He was sobbing and begging for his life and for me to help him, and there were pieces of him scattered around in the now, “—he was already dead, throat slit.”

Darius didn’t give any indication that I’d lied, he just went on inhaling his stew.

They all finished their dinner in silence.

The next morning we were set to move before the sun had even emerged from behind the horizon. The horses set off at brisk canter—all eager to be moving. The riders were a little less eager, a little more cautious.

It was nearing midday when my horse skidded to a stop and snorted angerly at absolutely nothing. The boys’ eyes widened as I slid off and walked forward a few strides and pressed my had against solid air—The Wall.

I’d seen it far more than the average mortal and it still took my breath away. It was marvelous—strong, ancient. I could almost feel it humming through my hand. Magic was wonderful—if only it hadn’t been used to kill and torture us in the past. I mounted my bay horse again and lanced at Darius. “Right or left?”

“Right.”

That was that. We set off, and I absently trailed a long stick along The Wall to ensure we didn’t stray too far away from it. There was no give anywhere in The Wall. There _had_ to be somewhere. If the fucking Children of the Blessed could find it, why couldn’t I?

It only took an hour for the Naga to find us this time.

The hair on the back of my neck prickled—some sixth sense that Amre had bred and the fae had trained set off warning bells in my head. I met Darius’s shark’s gaze—he’d noticed something _wrong_ too. The ash dagger he’d been casually toying with all day was now in a firm grip.

The boys behind us showed no signs of being aware of anything—city and country boys who didn’t need to worry about having their throats slit in an ally. Darius gave a sharp whistle to get their attention—that was all it took for them to be at the ready. Ash daggers and swords found their way into the boys’ hands.

They didn’t even have time to ask what was wrong before twelve Naga slunk out of the shadows. They were as hideous as I remembered—all reptilian skin, yellow eyes, sharp fangs and talons, and stinking of rot. I swung off my bay and let him run—the others followed suit and the Naga let the horses breeze past. They’d come back to us when we called.

Darius looked almost relieved at the Naga’s appearance since it got him out of the saddle.

In unison the Naga moved—

Two went down when my ash knives found homes in their heads. Darius rushed forwards snarling, more feral than the Naga. He didn’t bother with ash daggers, simply ripping one of their heads off with his bare hands. Black blood splattered against the ground. He moved onto the next one, his large frame moving nearly as fast as the faes’.

One honed in on me, his claws shredding the air around me as I ducked and spun. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Kilvin and Wilhelm back-to-back, squaring off against two of their own. Darius had ripped through another with his bare hands and was starting on his third with two ash daggers, snarling with his teeth bared like he too had fangs.

The remaining four boys were huddled together, gripping their weapons determinedly and facing the remaining four. They’d probably die.

I’d didn’t have time to worry about them as my Naga’s talons attempted to rip through my throat. “The Dark Mother has sent us a gift,” he snarled, his luminescent amber eyes flashing irately as I danced out of his reach, “the gift of letting us _kill_ you. You’ve killed my brothers—I can smell it on you.”

I slashed at one of his taloned hands as he made another sweeping pass and he screeched as a finger or two fell to the ground—black blood flowing from their stumps. “I can smell about a year’s worth of carrion on you, have you ever considered a shower?” I panted. The Naga’s eyes widened in rage.

It was the only break I gave him before going on the offensive.

It was almost too easy to send one of my ash blades into his scaled chest. I slammed into him, driving the blade deeper and him down into the ground—hard. My empty hand didn’t bother with finding a new knife—it simply curled itself into a fist and began slamming down into his leathery hide. Its face gave way with a sickeningly wet crunch that set my teeth on edge—I hated the sound of bones breaking.

My stomach churned and I pushed my remaining knife through its hand into the soft earth below it, pinning him. The Naga let out a sickening screech and thrashed violently until I started twisting the knife in his gut. “You stop moving and I stop twisting this.”

The Naga froze instantly, and I stopped twisting. Black blood was flowing from his wounds and ruined face as I held him down. I leaned in close to him. “Do you know anything about the whereabouts of Feyre Archeron?”

The Naga shuddered under me and its almond-shaped eyes blinked in surprise. “How do you know of Feyre Cursebreaker?”

“I can start twisting this dagger again, answer my question,” I snarled, pushing it in a little further for emphasis. “Your friends are dying,” hissed the monster.

“You will too, slowly, if you don’t answer the _fucking_ question,” I spat, giving the dagger a sharp twist that set the Naga off screaming again. More black blood poured out of him.

“She defeated Amarantha and freed the fae,” the Naga choked out. “Amarantha killed her, but the High Lords brought her back—made her—made her high fae.” A stone dropped into my stomach.

Feyre—

Feyre had _died_ —been _killed_

My little sister—Fae

And now—how many thousands of years would she outlive me by?

I bit back tears. “Can you get a message to her?” The Naga blinked up at me.

“What do I get in return?” It hissed, eyes narrowed—calculating.

“Your life isn’t enough?”

“I want the lives of one of your men, since you seem to value them so much.” I didn’t even have to think about it. My sister or a boy who could be easily replaced? “Done, you get anyone of the boys in the group of four, if you go to Feyre and tell her that she will always have a home with me and that I love her no matter what.”

The Naga hissed mockingly beneath me. “How sweet.” I twisted the dagger and set him off screaming desperately again. “And then you kill yourself,” I added.

The Naga’s eyes widened. “How much do you love your men?” I forced tears to well in my eyes—he needed to believe that they were all irreplaceable. He needed to believe that I valued their lives above all else if he was going to give me what I wanted.  

“It kills me to give you one of their lives, but you didn’t ask for your own life in this bargain, so you don’t get to keep it.”

The Naga hissed. “Very well…I get the lives of one of your men, and in turn I take your message to Feyre Cursebreaker and kill myself.”

“You take the message to her as fast as possible and you kill yourself _immediately_ after.”

“If I must do that…then I want _you_ to kill one of your men, instead of me. I get to eat the corpse, but _you_ must kill him.”

Blood pounded in my ears as I nodded.

The Naga purred. “The deal is a deal.” I pulled my knives form him and he scrambled backwards and I turned my sights to the fight behind me—my lower left calf and foot tingling, I’d probably just sat on it wrong while I held the Naga down.

Darius was cutting one of the Naga into little pieces…the bodies of three other Naga were scattered around his feet. Kilvin was on the ground, clutching an obviously broken leg while Wilhelm killed the Naga that had done it.

The knot of four boys had three Naga still surrounding them.

One of those boys had to die.

I flung an ash dagger into one of the Naga’s shoulders—enough to injure and piss off, but not enough to kill. The three Naga turned their sights from the boys to me and charged.

The boys—just as I’d expected—screamed and gave chase to the Naga.

I pivoted and took off through the woods, following the black blood trail from the Naga I’d struck a deal with. I flung my last dagger between the eyes of one of the Naga. Two left standing—one with a dagger in his shoulder.

The boys were still following, and ganging up on the injured Naga as they attempted to stab the monster. It was still far faster than all of them.

The uninjured Naga continued chasing me and I kept sprinting along the black trail of blood. “Lady Zoya! I’ll help you!” I recognized that vice—Gendry, a brave boy. He was more important that just another mercenary now.

I kept running, the Naga and Gendry trailing me closely. When the trees blocked the view between us and the other two I pivoted again—the Naga didn’t have to time react as I plunged my ash sword through its chest. Gendry caught up seconds later, smiling and red in the face. “I guess you can handle yourself.”

I gave him a small smile. “I’m sorry that you followed me. You’re a good boy and you had potential.” His brow furrowed. He didn’t have the time to ask what I meant. Ash could cut through humans like butter too. His head hit the ground with a dull _thunk_ and his body followed a moment later.

The hair on my arms stood on end as the bleeding Naga emerged from the shadows, giving me a bloody grin. “I will eat and then I will take your message to your sister.”

I didn’t stay to watch as the Naga began to tear into Gendry’s corpse, his brow was still furrowed in confusion.

Jameson and Horace and Balin were mercilessly stabbing the corpse of the injured Naga. The turned to see me heading back their way, covered head to toe in black and red blood. Their faced fell and they abandoned the Naga. “Gendry?” Jameson asked, his voice quaking.

I just shook my head and breezed past them.

Back in the clearing Darius was pulling the corpses of all the Naga into a large pile and pouring a generous amount of his personal stash of alcohol on them. Wilhelm was splinting Kilvin’s leg—riding would be hard for him.

Wilhelm looked up at me. “Where are the other four?”

“Jameson, Balin, and Horace are all fine.” Kilvin and Darius were looking at me too now.

“Gendry?” Kilvin asked pointlessly, they all new he was dead.

“Unlucky.”

The fire was forlorn that night and with Kilvin’s leg broken we wouldn’t be covering any more ground around The Wall. When Wilhelm called the horses they all came galloping back, they knew not to go too far. Gendry’s horse looked a bit confused at the lack of a rider by we piled our supplies onto him the following morning. He’d be a pack pony for the time being.

It was slow going back to the mansion but thankfully no one bothered to ask me questions…except Darius.

“I know you’re lying,” he muttered, “it wasn’t the Naga that did it. I know what you look like after you kill.” I quirked a brow in question and he smirked slightly. “You look like some weird combination of satisfied and horrified.”

“Just trust me that I didn’t want to, but I needed to.” Darius just nodded slowly, accepting my answer and ensuring that he wouldn’t accidentally unseat himself from his horse.

“I trust you.”

The days blurred together and when we made camp by a river the boys were nice enough to give me some privacy to change and wash. I’d changed my outer clothes but there was still blood crusted onto my skin—some of it was Gendry’s.

I peeled off my clothes and waded into the stream and looked down at my legs—

My leg—

A black, inked design wound up my left foot and lower calf. It looked like thorns, dark and threatening, were wrapped around me.

It was from the bargain—the deal

It had to be.

The Naga had given me this.

This was what I deserved—a reminder of the innocent blood on my hands.

I was as much a monster as them.


	30. Chapter Thirty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays! Let me know what you think.

NAGA POV

There was no way in.

No way into the High Lord of Spring’s estate.

The sentries had been lighter a week ago. I’d been slipping through their defenses a week ago with a message. A message I had to deliver.

Then—a ripple of night, of dark power. The High Lord of the Night Court, Amarantha’s whore, too away Feyre Cursebreaker.

And so I waited.

Watched—as the High Lord of Spring in his glittering, fine clothing tore apart his own estate. As the red-haired, one-eyed Autumn-born fae watched on in fear, cowering in the corner like the common human whelps who begged for their life before I took it.

A week passed.

Feyre Cusebreaker returned. She resembled the one I’d made the bargain with—skinny beyond reason and pale. But she didn’t have the same raw strength and anger of the other one.

The sentries were doubled.

There were no gaps in the defenses.

 _Deliver the message_ , screamed the bargain as it clanged through me. _Deliver the message…deliver the message…deliver the message…_

Dark Mother help me it would drive me insane.

Feyre Cursebreaker, from what I could see of her through the windows, was wasting away into a ghost. If she died what did that do to my bargain? Would I be free?

_Deliver the message_

_Deliver the message_

_Deliver the message_

The blonde High Lord and the one-eyed one rode out later in the day with a sizable crowd of sentries.

Behind them, in the door way, was a screaming Feyre Cursebreaker, pounding against a solid wall of air. Her beloved High Lord had trapped her.

The one-eyed one tried to calm her—to no avail. He left her screaming and trapped.

She was trapped—I knew the feeling. _Deliver the message_ , the bargain ordered, _deliver the message._

Damn that skeletal human and her pale yellow eyes. Damn her for being a born killer. She hadn’t blinked when she sent her own man’s head flying, she’d even smiled at him before doing it. The Dark Mother would be proud to have that good a killer as one of her own—it was a shame that she was human.

Feyre Cursebreaker backed into a table—and flooded the mansion with a black, swirling power.

Darkness—the power of Amarantha’s whore.

I could smell the terror coming from that house.

Taste it on my tongue.

It tasted _magnificent_.

Then she arrived—a blonde-haired high fae, beautiful beyond reason.

The female warrior swept through the doors of the estate and vanished into Feyre Cursebreaker’s darkness.

The warrior reemerged, holding Feyre Cursebreaker, and the Cursebreaker’s darkness guttered out around her. “You’re free,” the blonde female whispered to Cursebreaker. “You’re free.”

_Deliver the message_

I ghosted across the field before I knew what I was doing, coming to a stop a few paces in front of the blonde female warrior. She braced herself for an attack that would never come.

“I have a message,” I announced, hating the way my voice tremored at the sight of the power in front of me. The female glowered down at me—hand extended to end my life. “I have a message for Feyre Cursebreaker from a human below The Wall.”

The warrior’s hand paused and she glanced to Feyre Cursebreaker.

Her eyes focused on me after a beat—they were dead. They were the eyes of someone who had been tortured too much—I knew the look.

_Deliver the message_

“There is a skeletal female warrior with pale yellow eyes,” Feyre Cursebreaker perked up and stared intently at me; still a ghost of the human who had walked under the mountain, but more alive than I’d seen her. “A fighter like her,” I hissed, remembering the feel of her dagger grinding down into me and her impossible wiry strength, “it’s a shame she’s a human.”

The female warrior tightened her grin on her weapons and the Cursebreaker. She wouldn’t tolerate me for much longer.  

“She told me to tell you that she loves you no matter what, and that you will always have a home with her.”

I didn’t wait for their reaction.

 _Die_ , commanded the bargain.

My talons punched their way through my neck—

Dark Mother take me.

* * *

 

FEYRE POV

There were two winged males standing in the doorway.

Grinning.

Rhys sauntered toward the two males standing by the dining room doors, giving me the option to stay or join.

One word, he’d promised, and we could go.

Both of them were tall, their wings tucked in tight to powerful, muscled bodies covered in plated, dark leather that reminded me of the worn scales of some serpentine beast. Identical long swords were each strapped down the column of their spines—the blades beautiful in their simplicity. Perhaps I needn’t have bothered with the fine clothes after all.

The slightly larger of the two, his face masked in shadow, chuckled and said, “Come on, Feyre. We don’t bite. Unless you ask us to.”

Rhys slid his hands into his pockets. “The last I heard, Cassian, no one has ever taken you up on that offer.”

The second one snorted. Like their High Lord, the males—warriors—were dark-haired, tan-skinned. But unlike Rhys, their eyes were hazel and fixed on me as I at last stepped close—to the waiting House of Wind behind them.

That was where any similarities between the three of them halted.

Cassian surveyed Rhys from head to foot, his shoulder-length black hair shifting with the movement. “So fancy tonight, brother. And you made poor Feyre dress up, too.” He winked at me. There was something rough-hewn about his features—like he’d been made of wind and earth and flame and all these civilized trappings were little more than an inconvenience. His features and canine grin had the same rough-hewn feel that Zoya’s did—they were all chaotic energy made flesh.

My mind flashed back to the Naga—it had talked about my sister. Said that it had met her. Gave me a message from her and promptly dug out his throat with his own talons.

But that was a problem for after this dinner.

But the second male, the more classically beautiful of the two … Even the light shied from the elegant planes of his face. With good reason. Beautiful, but near-unreadable. He’d be the one to look out for—the knife in the dark. Indeed, an obsidian-hilted hunting knife was sheathed at his thigh, its dark scabbard embossed with a line of silver runes I’d never seen before.

Rhys said, “This is Azriel—my spymaster.” Not surprising. Some buried instinct had me checking that my mental shields were intact. Just in case.

“Welcome,” was all Azriel said.

* * *

 

ZOYA POV 

Anika was running her hands through my hair while I lay splayed out over her stomach in bed. “Do you think what I did was worth it?” I dared to ask.

She’d been silent since I’d told her about Gendry. I’d confessed to killing one of my own and all she’d done was sigh and run her hands through my hair.

“I’d like to be wise and all and say that only you can make that choice. But in my opinion, yeah, it was worth it.” I cracked an eye to look up at her. Her head was almost completely submerged into one of the stupidly soft pillows my sisters had insisted on purchasing for every bed in the house.

“Really?”

One of her cloudy blue eyes opened to look down at me. “Do you not think it was worth it?”

I shrugged absently. “I think it was worth it, but then again, I’m a little biased.”

“Your sister died, she was _killed_ , and now she has to live out a life longer and different to anything else that she has known or expected. If I were in her position I’d kill to hear from my older sister, and if I were in your position I’d gladly kill to give her some form of comfort.” I relaxed.

For once in the days that followed that kill—I could relax.

Anika understood—forgave it.

I could live with the action. I could live with killing someone who owed their allegiance to me.

I couldn’t live with Anika deciding that I was a monster.

I looked down at my legs—the tattoo on the left one had tingled briefly a few days ago, over a week since the trip up to The Wall. Maybe the Naga had fulfilled its end of the bargain…maybe not.

Or maybe it was just magic being magic. It wasn’t like I had a lot of experience to draw on in this situation.

My legs were littered in small scars and just as skinny as ever. There was a lean strength to them but nothing that really hinted at my years in the fighting pits. Others, Darius included, usually had more signs of their work than I did.

My torso was a mess of scars and tattoos and jutting ribs. I’d packed on a little weight ever since regular meals had been forced on me by Anna and the cook, Patmore, but nothing substantial—

“Stop it.”

“Stop what?” I muttered, counting my ribs. One of the lower ones on the right side was crooked. I’d probably broken it at some point and let it heal wrong.

“Picking yourself apart.”

I scowled like the petulant child I too often was. “I am not picking myself apart.”

“Yes,” Anika said slowly, as though she were speaking to a little child, “you are. Whenever you get quiet and stare at yourself for the next week I get pitiful questions like ‘why are you with me’ or ‘what do you see in me’ or my timeless favorite ‘why do you love me.’ And the answer to all of those is ‘shut up, I just do.’ Your body isn’t what matters to me, and even if it was you’re beautiful.” I looked at her doubtfully and she scowled. “No, really, you are. You’re not pretty in the conventional way that Elain or a songbird is, you’re pretty in the way that a shark is—a perfect predator and incredible at what they do, and there’s something moderately terrifying about them most of the time.”

“Are you calling me a fish?”

“I’m calling you a fish with big teeth.”

“I can live with that.” Anika snorted and ruffled my hair.

“I should—”

The door swung open.

Thankfully, this time it wasn’t Nesta.

“Put your clothes on!” Darius roared, flushing beet red. Anika pulled a blanket over herself, and in doing so covered the top half of my body but I made no move to cover up the rest of myself. “Zoya!” Darius screeched, scandalized. “Cover yourself!”

I stretched my legs out and sighed.

Anika pulled the blanket over the rest of me.

“Have you ever heard of nocking, Darius?” I inquired through the blanket. “They invented it a while back, lovely idea, you should try it out for yourself.” I couldn’t see anything, but judging by the sounds of the door slamming and Darius’s now muffled hyperventilating, he’d left the room.

Anika ripped the covers off of me.

“Really? You have to torture him?” I rolled out of bed and grabbed my robe—silk and flower print from Elain for our birthday, honestly, it was like she didn’t know me at all.

…it was really cozy though.

Not that I’d ever admit that out loud.

I tossed her a fuzzy blue robe that had materialized in my closet like most of my clothes did. My clothing, with the exception of the fun items like leather armor and black shirts, just seemed to appear…that was probably Anna and Elain’s fault. Anika slid into the robe and I swung open the door to reveal Darius with his eyes squeezed shut.

“Are you decent?” He asked.

“Morally, no. But I am now wearing clothes, yes.” Darius exhaled loudly and opened his eyes.

“Thank you, Anika, for making her wear clothes.”

“You’re welcome,” Anika said, pulling a wine bottle out of nowhere. “Drink?”

“Please,” breathed Darius, flinging himself on the bed next to her. “I need a drink after seeing you two.”

“I need a drink after seeing you,” I muttered, flinging myself onto the bed and distributing the glasses. “We’re not drinking straight from the bottle?” Darius asked, scandalized. “We’re on our way to being fancy folk.”

“The glasses are even crystal.” Darius sighed the same way Elain did when she saw Graysen. Anika held a glass up to a light. “Pure poetry,” she said, dreamily.

“Shut up, both of you.”

Anika filled the glasses up to the rim, something that fancy people frowned upon. They only filled their glass halfway. What was the point of that? There was still half a glass left to fill up and drink. Or chug, if you were less inclined to be socially acceptable.

“So,” Darius said, propping himself up on one elbow, “you two have talked about—” he made an awkward gesture with his glass and nearly sloshed half of it over my bedspread. Anika rolled her eyes. “Yes, we talked.”

“Are you going to tell your sisters?” he asked, draining his glass and thrusting it towards Anika for a refill.

“I have no idea.” And I honestly didn’t. It wouldn’t make them feel better, it’d probably just make them feel bad about letting her go North. They deserved to know—I just didn’t want to be the one to tell them, but I couldn’t let them hear it from someone else. “I mean—I have to tell them eventually, but I’d really just rather not.”

“Put it off for a week and by then you’ll have forgotten that you need to do that,” Darius suggested.

“True.” I muttered, finishing off my glass and passing it to Anika for a refill.

The door to my room swung open again—

Elain.

Wonderful.

“Does no one knock anymore?”

Nesta followed her in.

Even more wonderful.

“Am I in trouble?” I asked, propping myself up to face my sisters. Elain was scowling while Nesta looked ready to disembowel me, set me on fire, and _then_ kill me. Darius—for all his muscle and fighting experience—was not willing to go up against my sisters. “My room is on fire,” he said, grabbing the bottle and his glass and fleeing the room.

Anika followed him with no explanation, grabbing her glass and mine to go.

Nesta slammed the door shut behind the two of them.

“Do you think you’re funny?” Elain asked. I raised an eyebrow.

“In general, or like, right now? Because my answer depends,” I answered, keeping one eye on Nesta and examining her hands and dress for weapons. I wouldn’t put her past stabbing me.

“You got me a _male prostitute_ for my engagement present!” Elain whisper-shouted, like the walls of my room would hear her and report her. “He arrived last night in my room wearing nothing but a robe and a bow on his head, and said that you’d instructed him to arrive a week after my party.”

“I said the present was expensive, I didn’t say I could remember what the present was.”

“You—” Elain spluttered, “you don’t remember hiring a male prostitute?” I shrugged absently.

“I woke up with a charge written in the margin of one of our books and a note that said ‘present for Elain.’ So that’s what I knew.”

Nesta sneered down at me, her upper lip curling in a perfect imitation of mother when I did something particularly heinous. “I suppose you’d know a lot of prostitutes.” Elain flushed and Nesta, if possible, looked even more repulsed by my existence. It was ridiculous, that Nesta and Elain still seemed to believe that I had been a working girl. Like my tattoos and fighting ability and scars just _appeared_.

I nodded in agreement. “They’re certainly better company than you are. They don’t get hung up on bullshit like my idea of humor.”

Elain looked shocked, “you said it was an expensive present.”

“He was expensive,” I said. “Very nice man too, I hope you tipped.” Elain spluttered indignantly.

“I didn’t—I didn’t, uh, _utilize_ his services,” Elain gasped out while Nesta glared coldly down at me. “How dare you insinuate something like that. Just because you occupied your life with that filth doesn’t mean that you have a right to force it on _us_.”

“I didn’t realize that I sent you one too. That seems like too much money to spend on you.” Elain looked angry for the first time that night instead of mildly offended.

“Don’t talk to me like that, Zoya.” I leaned back onto the bed and looked up at her—ramrod straight back and righteous fury. She was beautiful in all her I-will-kill-you-and-no-one-will-hear-your-screams glory.

A cool calm washed over me; not the fiery hot mess that came over me before a fight, thankfully. The last time that happened around Nesta I’d pinned her to a wall by her neck and threatened to end her life. Good times. We were such good sisters. So loving.

“I’ll talk to you however I want to,” I hissed flatly. “I owe you no respect.” She’d done nothing. Nothing. All of those years in the cabin she’d done nothing but suck up money that Feyre and I made. She would have let us starve if it meant that she could have a new pair of boots.

“Stop it,” Elain commanded, some rare steel in her voice. “Both of you just _stop it_.”

Nesta looked ready to spill my blood and drink it. Her hands had curled into fists. That intimidation tactic worked on me when I was five and not a second older.

“Get out of my room.”

Nesta froze, her eyes glinting. “What did you say to me?” She asked, her voice deathly quiet.

“Get out of my room and leave. I don’t need to deal with your shit.” Nesta went still as death.

“You have no right—”

“I have every right,” I hissed, standing up and walking towards her, stepping into her personal space. “I am the only thing standing between this family and financial ruin—”

“Father—” Nesta started.

“Father has no power on the Council, and he is not the one in this family who makes Master Fowl shit bricks. He may be the Prince of Merchants, but I’m the fucking queen. He built up some of this family’s fortune and I grew it to astronomical proportions,” I snarled. Nesta took a small, minute step back. “Feyre and I were the only thing standing between this family and a long, hard, cold death in that fucking cabin. I have paid my dues to this damn family and all you have done is take and take and take and never even given me or Feyre a half-assed thank you that you didn’t even mean.”

I took another step forwards and Nesta took another step back. Elain was pressed flat up against the wall and heading towards the door.

“Get out of my room,” I snarled.

They left.

Darius and Anika slipped back into the room as they left.

He quirked an eyebrow in question a resettled himself on the bed. “I’m guessing you won’t be telling them about Feyre for a little bit?”

“I’m guessing I won’t be telling them anything for a while.”


	31. Chapter Thirty One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love hearing from you guys, please keep letting me know what you think of the story, and more importantly: MERRY XMAS!

ZOYA POV 

There was a knock at my office door—well, Father’s office door. I’d overtaken the room when my office essentially just became a paper storage area.

Darius and Anika were on cushions by the window. Anika was reading a book that looked like it weighed more than me. Darius had a few different colors of ink laid out in front of him and he was coloring what looked like an important piece of paper with stick figures. If the two of them were here it meant that I didn’t want to talk to whoever was on the other side of that door wasn’t someone I wanted to talk to.

“Fuck off!” I called out, not looking up from the tally of household expenses in front of me.

The knock came again. “Zoya…” it was Elain, “can I come in and talk to you for a second?”

“Do you promise that it will only be a second?” I yelled at the door.

A few beats of silence. “Zoya, please—”

“ _Fine_.” I snapped, closing the book in front of my and leaning back into Father’s huge leather chair. “ _Fine_. Come in.”

Darius and Anika looked up at me in silent question: _Do you want us to leave the room and spend the entire conversation with our ears pressed against the door?_

I shook my head no. They may as well hear everything unobstructed.

Elain walked into the room hesitantly, and glanced at Anika and Darius—they’d both started coloring now, probably because Anika didn’t want to sacrifice the quality of her reading just to snoop in on family drama. Elain looked at me as though to urge me to ask them to leave. I made no move to do so.

“Have a seat,” I said, gesturing to one of the plush leather seats in front of the massive desk. Elain sat down delicately, like a lady, like she was on display for her fancy friends. There was no one fancy to be found in this room. No one who cared how she sat either. I flung my leg over the arm of my chair and relaxed—waiting. “Well? What do you want?”

Elain blinked and pulled at the embroidered sleeve of her gown. “Why do you assume I want something?”

“Because you always want something,” I snapped, my temper breaking free from its leash. “Because you and Nesta always want something.” Elain’s lower lip wobbled a bit, but she squared her shoulders. My temper deflated and I loosed a long breath, “I’m sorry. It’s Nesta that I’m pissed at, not you.” I ran a hand over my face and tried to push Nesta out of my head.

Elain fiddled more with her sleeve. “I just didn’t know how to react to finding a…you know…waiting for me in my room.” She hesitated for a moment. “I just went to Nesta after I asked him to leave because—”

“Because you always go to Nesta,” I finished. “Yeah, I know.” She looked up from pulling at her sleeve. “I’m sorry…if I ever…alienated you.” I just shook my head at her. It didn’t matter anymore. None of it really mattered anymore—any of our petty squabbles.

“Don’t worry about it,” I muttered, picking an imaginary speck of dirt off my sleeve.

Darius cleared his throat out noisily behind us.

Anika hit him for me.

“Anyway, what do you need?”

Elain fidgeted again with her sleeve. “I need your help planning the wedding.” My jaw dropped.

“You need—” I pointed disbelievingly at myself “— _my_ help?”

Darius scoffed.

Anika hit him again—a little harder.

“Not for things relating to the set up of the wedding, like the flowers or the table setting, but for the money part of it. You’re also better at getting along with Graysen than Nesta is, and I’d like your opinion at my wedding dress appointment with the tailor, and I’d like you and Nesta to be the maids of honor in my wedding.”

My heart stopped dead in my chest. I nodded mutely, struck dumb. “I—yes. Yes of course I’ll help you with anything you need, and I’m honored that you want me in your wedding.”

Elain smiled brilliantly and hugged me over the desk. I gave her a quick hug in return—how long had it been since I’d been this close to her? It was sad.

“Tomorrow, at eleven the tailor is coming over. I’m having Nesta and a few of my friends there too. The fitting and everything will happen in my room. Be there.” She ordered, grinning from ear to ear. “Anika,” she called out.

Anika made a show of looking up from drawings that she hadn’t touched in minutes. Like she hadn’t been analyzing every little inch of this interaction. She had a truly scary amount of insight into how people behaved and how to manipulate them—it was what had made her such a good dancer, charming the money straight out of peoples’ pockets.

“Yes?” She asked, smiling up at Elain.

“Will you come to my fitting?”

Anika smiled brilliantly. “I’d love to. I’ll make sure that Zoya gets there on time and sober.”

Elain, if it was possible, smiled even more brightly. “And not hungover?” Anika nodded, and grinned. “Nothing would make me happier than to deprive Zoya of alcohol.” I glared at Anika but all she did was ignore me. Rude.

Darius was grinning like an idiot and waved goodbye at Elain as she hurried out of the room. “No alcohol for poor little Zoya,” he taunted, grinning about as dumbly as Elain had been. Anika snickered gleefully. “I can’t remember the last time you went without alcohol for a night.”

“Both of you shut up.”

* * *

 

FEYRE POV 

How Azriel knew where the cleft was, I had no idea. It all looked the same to me: invisible, open sky.

But I felt The Wall as we swept through. Felt it lunge for me, as if enraged we’d slipped past, felt the power flare and try to close that gap but failing—

Then we were out.

The wind was biting, the temperature so cold it snatched the breath from me. That bitter wind seemed somehow less alive than the spring air we’d left behind.

Azriel banked, veering toward the coastline, where Rhys and Cassian were now sweeping over the land. I shivered in my fur-lined cloak, clinging to Azriel’s warmth.

We cleared a sandy beach at the base of white cliffs, and flat, snowy land dotted with winter-ravaged forests spread beyond them.

The human lands.

My home.

* * *

 

ZOYA POV 

“Stop fucking drinking all the good stuff in front of me. You know I’m not allowed to drink today. Elain said so.”

Darius cackled and refilled his glass. “Make me stop.” The blood in my veins heated and twitched. “Get read—”

“No.”

Our heads swiveled around to Anika and her book. “Excuse me?” Darius said, offended. “What would you do to stop me little miss half-my-height?”

“Zoya can wipe the floor with you and she’s— _maybe_ —a quarter of your size. You two need to blow off some steam. You’re coming on a walk with me around the estate that ends with you two fighting in the training grounds in a situation where you aren’t a liability to Elain’s pricey vases.” 

“But moooom,” whined Darius, scrunching up his face. I was ahead of him and already shooting for the door at full-tilt. “Race you,” I screeched, every inch the toddler I pretended not to be.

Thankfully, Darius was a toddler too, and he gave chase, shooting down the hall after me. For all his bulk he was light and fast. It just wasn’t fair.

The grounds were wide open and cool as I sprinted across them, through the barracks. All the men were gone—twenty were up by The Wall, the Naga had been less active than normal, so they’d gone to sweep the whole area. The rest of the men had been given a few days off, if we’d kept our holidays after the war they’d be with their family. I wouldn’t deny them all hard-earned free time. They were probably drinking themselves into oblivion somewhere on their paychecks.

The grounds were so open—

So free—

Why bother with the arena?

I circled the mansion, Darius was hot on my heels. Anika was strolling leisurely along the edge of the mansion following us. She’d used our excitement to her advantage and had taken the nice wine that Darius had been drinking.

My blood sang as I raced along. The freezing cold bit at my exposed skin but I couldn’t find it in me to give it half a though. The ground rattled under my feet as I raced away from Darius. He was stronger than me—but I was faster, lighter. Amre’s winding streets weren’t kind to girls and before I’d been anyone I’d had to run before I could fight.

My lungs strained furiously as Darius gained on me, I let my stride slow, grow clumsy—let him think I was tiring.

Three strides away—

Two strides away—

I pivoted—and slammed straight into a wall of muscle and took him down. Darius grunted loudly as I pinned him. His grin was positively feral as I brought my fist downwards into his face. He shot sideways, fast as an asp, and my fist only met dirt. He threw me off and in a heartbeat I was up and dancing on my feet.

I moved faster than Darius.

Darius flung himself at me with a punch so swift most amateur and junior fighters would have had their heads spun around. But I was a senior fighter, and I dodged smoothly, and caught his arm in one hand, locking it into a hold that was bone snapping. Darius was fast, and strong, and my replacement in The Pits—but he was not on my level.

I bit down as I twisted his arm. I drove my knee upwards as Darius went crashing to the ground. My knee slammed into his jaw and he grunted.

It was so fast, so brutal. Darius reeled away from me and grinned madly.

 I was already dancing on my toes.

A fist flew by my face and I easily dodged it, another one glanced off my exposed side as I twisted to avoid having my teeth knocked out.

It was the only break I gave him.

Punch after punch, block, lunge, duck, spin…I could see Anika a few paces away, sipping my wine and smirking at me.

It had been a while since I’d been out of the house and able to fight for the sheer enjoyment of it.

And I was enjoying the hell out of this.

I barely noticed the front door’s bell ring or our housekeeper skirt the edge of our fight.

I pushed myself upwards when Darius went for my torso. My legs locked around his head and I rolled—flipping him. My body uncoiled off the floor and Darius let out a mad laugh…

He slammed a kick into my stomach and sent me flying. Anika let out a whoop and cheered on Darius—

Traitor.

* * *

 

FEYRE POV 

It had been a year since I had stalked through that labyrinth of snow and ice and killed a faerie with hate in my heart.

My family’s emerald-roofed estate was as lovely at the end of winter as it had been in the summer. A different sort of beauty, though—the pale marble seemed warm against the stark snow piled high across the land, and bits of evergreen and holly adorned the windows, the archways, and the lampposts. In the fields there were three figures—a massive man who moved like a storm, a slight blonde figure who didn’t seem to touch the ground she walked on, and a tiny brown-haired woman who moved like leashed lightning.

Hood up, fingers tucked into the fur-lined pockets of my cloak, I stood before the double doors of the house, listening to the clear ringing of the bell I’d pulled a heartbeat before.

Behind me, hidden by Rhys’s glamours, my three companions waited, unseen.

I’d told them it would be best if I spoke to my family first. Alone.

I shivered, craving the moderate winter of Velaris, wondering how it could be so temperate in the far north, but … everything in Prythian was strange. Perhaps when the wall hadn’t existed, when magic had flowed freely between realms, the seasonal differences hadn’t been so vast.

The door opened, and a merry-faced, round housekeeper—Mrs. Laurent, I recalled—squinted at me. “May I help?” The words trailed off as she noticed my face.

With the hood on, my ears and crown were hidden, but that glow, that preternatural stillness … She didn’t open the door wider.

“I’m here to see my family,” I choked out.

“Your—your father is away on business, but your sisters … ” She didn’t move.

She knew. She could tell there was something different, something off—

Her eyes darted around me. No carriage, no horse.

No footprints through the snow.

Her face blanched, and I cursed myself for not thinking of it—

* * *

 

ZOYA POV 

“Zoya!” Came Elain’s irritated snap.

I slid out of the way of one of Darius’s fists—smooth as water and jogged over to my sister. Darius was behind me catching his breath, hands planted on his knees while Anika teased him about being too old.

“Yes, sister mine?” I panted out—I was out of shape. I could fight as well as ever but the run around the grounds had tired me.

Elain just thrust her chin towards the wrought iron gate of the estate—where our housekeeper was greeting a cloaked figure.

A figure with Archeron hair.

My heat stuttered in my chest.

Elain raced towards the gate—I was hot on my twin’s heels.

* * *

 

FEYRE POV 

“Mrs. Laurent?”

Something in my chest broke at Elain’s voice.

I backed away a step. I couldn’t do this. Couldn’t bring this upon them.

Then Elain’s face appeared over Mrs. Laurent’s round shoulder.

Beautiful—she’d always been the most beautiful of us. Soft and lovely, like a summer dawn.

Elain was exactly as I’d remembered her, the way I’d made myself remember her in those dungeons

Elain’s golden-brown hair was half up, her pale skin creamy and flushed with color, and her eyes, like molten chocolate, were wide as they took me in.

They filled with tears and silently overran, spilling down those lovely cheeks.

Mrs. Laurent didn’t yield an inch. She’d shut this door in my face the moment I so much as breathed wrong.

Elain lifted a slender hand to her mouth as her body shook with a sob.

“Elain,” I said hoarsely.

Footsteps on the gravel behind them, then—

“Feyre,” breathed Zoya, feral and proud as ever. She held herself perfectly still—it took a beat to realize that she was the slight figure brawling on the lawn in the bitter cold with that hulking man. Zoya let out a soft sob and all but flung Mrs. Laurent out of the way before slamming into me.

The Naga’s message held true—

She still loved me.

I was home.


	32. Chapter Thirty two

Feyre was seated before the carved marble sitting room hearth, her hood still on, hands outstretched toward the roaring fire.

There was something different about her—beyond the obvious truth that I knew; she was fae. She had become too big for these rooms, for our fragile mortal life, too wild and powerful. It was like letting a wolf into a nursery.

The back of my neck prickled—it had since I’d greeted Feyre. It had nothing to do with her newfound immortality. I hadn’t felt like this when Lord Tool? Turmeric? Towel? Had broken down our front door and convinced us that he’d eat us all whole. No—it felt like the shadows in my house were watching me. Like there was something watching me that was just out of reach, that I just couldn’t see.

The three of us circled Feyre. Nesta and Elain were sitting on a small sofa across from Feyre. I stood.

Anika and Darius had made themselves scarce despite knowing more than my sisters.

“Where is Father?” Feyre asked—smart. Probably the only safe thing she could say.

“In Neva,” Nesta said. It was one of the largest cities on the continent. “Trading with some merchants from the other half of the world. And attending a summit about the threat about The Wall which Zoya helped organize. A threat I wonder if you’ve come back to warm us about.”

She had no words of relief or love for Feyre. If I wasn’t sure that she’d set me on fire in my sleep I’d slap her.

Elain lifted her teacup. “Whatever the reason, Feyre, we are happy to see you. Alive. We thought you were—”

Feyre pulled back her hood before Elain could go on.

I let my eyes trace Feyre’s new, pointed ears. Even though I knew they were there, it was still an effort not to jolt. Elain’s teacup rattled in its saucer as she noticed the differences.

“I was dead,” Feyre said roughly. “I was dead, and then I was reborn—remade.”

Elain set her shivering teacup onto the low-lying table between us. Amber liquid splashed over the side, pooling in the saucer.

And as she moved, Nesta angled herself—ever so slightly. Between Feyre and Elain. Nesta needed to use her brain a little bit more and realize that if there was anyone in the room who might hurt the others it would be me, but the only person I’d hurt was her, and at worse she’d just be slapped.

Feyre glanced up at me—waiting for the other shoe to drop, for me to call her a monster and shout at her to get out of the house. I held her gaze. _You are loved, and this is your home_. _You do not scare me, little sister_.

She got the message.

She held Nesta’s gaze next as she said, “I need you to listen.”

And so we did.

And so she told us her story in as much detail as she could endure. Her voice wobbled and she became increasingly vague about the past few months—I’d ask her more later. No was not the time for my overbearing curiosity.

But she explained what needed to happen here—and the threat Hybern posed. How the woman—Amarantha—had only been the beginning of something much worse. She needed our house to become a meeting point between the Queens and fae.

When she finished Elain and Nesta remained wide-eyed. Silent.

It was fair and we could definitely do it. If there was any place south of The Wall that provided adequate protection against fae it was this house. The total tonnage of ash within our walls was impossibly high.

I found myself nodding in agreement.

It was Elain who at last said, “You—you want other High Fae to come … here. And … and the Queens of the Realm.”

Feyre nodded slowly.

“Find somewhere else,” Nesta said.

Feyre braced herself for a fight, but she really needn’t have done—I was already wound tight. Plus, I was always looking for an excuse to bring the sky crashing down on to Nesta—it may be juvenile but that wouldn’t stop me.

“Find somewhere else,” Nesta said again, straight-backed. “I don’t want them in my house. Or near Elain.”

“That’s not up to you,” I broke in. Nesta snapped her head around to glare at me—daring me to go against her. Let it never be said that I backed away from a challenge. “This is my house and I say yes. We let it happen. Bring in the fae and bring in the Queens we need to make this meeting happen to ensure that we don’t get wiped off the face of the Earth by Hybern.”

“Nesta, please,” Feyre breathed. “There is nowhere else; nowhere I can go without someone hunting me, crucifying me—”

“And what of us? When the people around here learn we’re Fae sympathizers? Are we any better than the Children of the Blessed, then? Any standing, any influence we have—gone. And Elain’s wedding—”

“Oh, cry me a river,” I broke in, sneering down at my older sister.

“Wedding,” Feyre blurted.

Elain’s face paled as she glanced down at her ring.

“In five months,” Nesta said. “She’s marrying a lord’s son. And his father has devoted his life to hunting down your kind when they cross the wall.”

Your kind.

Nesta could fuck right off.

“So there will be no meeting here,” Nesta said, shoulders stiff. “There will be no Fae in this house.”

“I will throw you out of this house into the snow before I throw Feyre out. So I suggest you, for once, shut up, Nesta.”

Before Nesta could explode Elain broke in.

“Nesta.” Slowly, Nesta looked at her. “Nesta,” Elain said again, twisting her hands. “If … if we do not help Feyre, there won’t be a wedding. Even Lord Nolan’s battlements and all his men, and Zoya’s men, couldn’t save me from … from them.”

Nesta didn’t flinch I didn’t protest. She was right. I’d hired those men as a meat shield and not much else. A few of them had the job of racing ahead and warning other villages of the threat but overall I didn’t expect them to live very long.

Feyre and Elain looked to me.

“Let’s keep this on the down-low. I’ll send the servants and the men away. With spring right around the corner they’ll be happy to go home for a bit and they won’t ask too many questions about it. Feyre,” I looked directly at her and she nodded to show that she was listening, “you’ll need to tell us when you’ll be in and out for meetings. Send word ahead and we’ll clear out the residence for different reasons—the holidays or whatever. They’ll buy it—they buy whatever I tell them to. Father won’t be back until summer with a fleet that I’ve commissioned so, all goes well, no one will know.”

Elain rested her hand on Nesta’s knee. Nesta would rip my head off for doing that.  “Feyre gave and gave—for years. Let us now help her. Help … others.”

I had to fight back the emotion welling up in my chest—somewhere between rage and pride. Rage that it took her this long to pay Feyre back. Pride that she finally understood.

Feyre met Nesta’s gaze. “There is no other way.”

Her chin lifted slightly. “We’ll send the servants away tomorrow.”

“Today,” I corrected. “There’s no time to lose.”

“I’ll do it,” Elain said. “Do your men need to be sent away too?”

I shook my head. “They’re already gone.”

Elain took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. She didn’t wait for any of us before she strode out, graceful as a doe but not as graceful as Anika.

“Is he good—” Feyre started “—the lord’s son she’s going to marry?”

“She thinks he is. She loves him like he is.” Nesta answered. A non-answer.

“And what do you two think?”

“His father built a wall of stone around their estate so high even the trees can’t reach over it. I think it looks like a prison.” Nesta supplied. I nodded in agreement.

“Have you two said anything to her?”

“The son, Graysen, is kind enough,” I supplied. “His father is an ass, but he’ll die soon.” Nesta nodded almost imperceptibly.

“Hopefully.”

Nesta shrugged. I grinned.

Then Nesta asked, “Your High Lord … You went through all that”—she waved a hand at Feyre, her ears, her body—“and it still did not end well?”

“That lord built a wall to keep the Fae out. My High Lord wanted to keep me caged in.”

“Why? He let you come back here all those months ago.”

“To save me—protect me. And I think … I think what happened to him, to us, Under the Mountain broke him. The drive to protect at all costs, even my own well-being … I think he wanted to stifle it, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t let go of it.”

“And the new court?” I asked.

A glimmer of a smile passed over Feyre’s face. “Would you like to meet them?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, let me know what you think. This is a short one.


	33. Chapter Thirty Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have hit the 100k mark! Please let me know what you think.

It might have taken Elain hours to work her charm on the staff to get them to swiftly pack their bags and leave, thankfully, Darius existed. With him standing menacingly behind Elain the entire time no one bothered asking questions. The housekeeper was the last to depart and she swore that she would keep what she had seen with Feyre to herself.

Darius’s wolfish grin and sharks’ eyes told her _you better_.

Feyre glanced at Anika and Darius questioningly and I shook my head. “They stay.”

She didn’t ask any further and simply relaxed into my side while we listened to the house pack itself up. “Do I scare you?”

“No.”

Feyre blinked. “Nesta placed herself between me and Elain. Humans have feared faeries for hundreds of years. And you’re not a little bit scared of me?”

“You’re my little sister. I find you about as scary as a marshmallow.”

I had no idea where her court had been hiding, but once all the staff had crammed themselves into the carriages (Darius had watched Anna leave wistfully), heading down to the village to find transportation to their families, there was a knock on the door.

My sisters bustled off to the large dining room where I’d ruined Master Fowl’s face with a teacup. One of my more iconic moments. Elain cast a quick look at Darius and Anika—they’d all become quite fond of each other—and the two of them trailed after her.

I stuffed my hands into my pockets and let Feyre answer the door.

There were three men—males. Wild. Rough. And Ancient.

Armed to the teeth.

Their weapons were beautiful.

I wanted them.

I’d ask Feyre to send me a few as a birthday present at some point.

One of them was half-cloaked in dancing shadow. One was rough-hewn with the same build as Darius. The middle one was possibly the most beautiful being I’d seen with playful purple eyes—he was the only one without wings.

Wings.

These bastards got to _fly_.

I’d always wanted to fly as a child—it had been part of the reason that I had started climbing trees. Some stupid little part of me was jealous.

The middle one’s brows lifted. “You’d think they’d been told plague had befallen the house.”

“My twin Elain can convince anyone to do anything with a few smiles, and my friend Darius will make anyone do just about anything by glaring at them.” Feyre pulled the door open wide enough to let them in and for them to see me.

The three males’ eyes fixed on me. I offered a hand to the middle one with the purple eyes. “Zoya Archeron.”

He took it, his hand dwarfing mine. “Rhysand, call my Rhys.” I nodded faintly in recognition.

“The High Lord—Thingy one?” He smirked slightly and the rough-hewn one snorted loudly.

“The very one.”

I turned to the two others. The rough-hewn one offered me his hand. “Cassian.”

“Do you have any fun titles?” I asked, giving his hand a firm shake. The third one was blending into the shadows around him.

He smirked, it was almost identical to the same smirk that often crossed Darius’s face. “No, unfortunately. But you’re more than welcome to call me whatever you want.”

I nodded absently. “If you go anywhere near either of my sisters I’ll geld you,” I said with a pretty smile. He grinned broadly.

“I like you.”

“You like me more than I like you.” I looked back at the third male.

“Azriel,” he offered in a deathly quiet voice.

“Please,” I said, addressing all of them and starting down the hallway. “Make yourselves at home.”

Cassian let out a low whistle as he turned in place, surveying the grand entry hall, the ornate furniture, the paintings. All of it had been paid for by High Lord Tool? Toe? Temple? initially. Now I owned it all inside and out.

“Your father must be a fine merchant,” Cassian said. “I’ve seen castles with less wealth.”

“Thank you. I work hard to fill the family coffers.” The three of them honed in on my again and I fought the urge to bleat. They meant me no harm—but they were the perfect predators. I’d give anything to spar with one of them. I’d give anything to be near the level they could spar at. “I earn most of the family’s money at this point. Father taught me what I know—I ran with it.”

I found Rhysand—Rhys studying me, a silent question on his face. “Our father is away on business—he’s helping me establish a new spice trade route and attending a meeting in Neva that I helped organize which discusses the threat posed by north of The Wall.”

Azriel came forward on feet silent as a cat’s—he moved with as much grace as Anika. I’d never seen another person move like they hated touching the ground. “If humans are aware of the threat, rallying against it, then that might give us an advantage when contacting the queens.”

“Most people in the north are aware of _some_ threat. Anyone who’s lived up here for fifty years plus can tell you that the attacks we’ve been facing from rogue faeries have been getting worse. I thought after hearing that Feyre had put an end to Amarantha from a Naga that it would mean that the attacks would lessen—I was wrong. Whatever High Lord is on the boarder with The Wall has crap control over the creepy-crawlies that are leaking over to our side.” I paused to glance at Feyre. “The High Lord in control of that land is the one who tore down our door and ripped up my arm, right? The blonde fucker?”

Feyre nodded. Cassian and Azriel’s lips twitched.

“Alright, well someone tell High Lord Tool, Tapestry, or Testicle…” Cassian and Rhys let out a strangled choking nose, “whatever the fuck his name is…that he’s doing a rank job of just about everything under the sun. In the past three months _only_ we’ve had about fifty or so people killed in attacks by the Naga and Martax and other creepies. That guy needs to get a hold of himself. But outside of the north, not many people know or care—the point of the summit is to raise awareness and to get people to realize that there’s a war coming. We aren’t safe. But humans have their heads up their asses most of the time, so I don’t think it’ll do a whole lot.”

I sighed and beckoned the males with a hand. “Come on. Let’s get this introduction over with.”

I lead them into the large dining hall. My other two sisters were standing by the window, the light of the chandeliers that I’d imported about two months ago coaxing the gold in their hair to glisten.

Anika was standing by them with her hair looking like burnished gold. Darius was relaxing back in one of the chairs and pouring himself what seemed to be another glass of wine. His broad shoulders rivaled those of the fae males in the room and while their predatory grace was extraordinary, Darius seemed no less dangerous.

I let myself fall into the chair closest to me and flung a leg over the arm of the chair. I gestured to Anika and Darius. “These two are my friends, Anika and Darius.”

The three males nodded in greeting.

Feyre crossed the room and the three males were a step behind her.

My human sisters took in the winged males and Rhys in his inhuman beauty. Anika gave them a cursory once-over before moving to sit on my right—she was completely unphased. Her eyes danced, and she looked at me before looking pointedly at Rhys’s ass as if to say: _I’m gay and I’d go there_.

I smothered a grin and nodded. _Me too_.

Darius coolly assessed the three males and send them an easy wolfish grin and went back to drinking.

Bless my friend and girlfriend for not batting an eye.

Elain, to their credit, did her best not to faint.

Nesta, to hers, did not hiss outright as them—it might have had something to do with a threat I’d issued earlier to douse her with red wine, and _not_ the good stuff. But Nesta did take a not-so-subtle step in front of Elain.

My sisters were terrified.

The movement did not go unnoticed by the males.

I had no doubt that the males and Feyre could hear their hearts pounding against their ribs and taste their fear.

“My other sisters, Nesta and Elain Archeron.” Feyre introduced them. It had been an age since I’d heard her use our family name.

My sisters did not curtsy.

“Cassian,” Feyre said, inclining her head to left to gesture to him. She then shifted her head to the right as she said, “Azriel.” His shadows had disappeared. It was a shame—they were fun to watch, and they might encourage Nesta to shut up, for once. Feyre half turned. “And Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court.”

Rhysand bowed to my sisters. “Thank you for your hospitality—and generosity,” he said with a warm smile. But there was something strained in it.  I scowled at him. Why didn’t he bow for me? Rude.

Elain tried to return the smile but failed.

Nesta looked at them and then at Feyre, and said, “The cook left dinner on the table. We should eat before it goes cold.” Nesta didn’t wait for their agreement striding off—right to the head of the polished cherry table.

“Elain rasped, “Nice to meet you,” before hustling after our older sister.

There was a seat between Anika and Nesta that was left vacant—Elain slid into it.

Darius sat on Nesta’s other side across from Elain. It might have been my imagination, but it was the first time I’d seen Nesta look grateful.

Cassian grimaced as he trailed them to sit down at the table, Rhy’s brows were raised, and Azriel looked like he wanted to hide in a corner to avoid this conversation all together.

Feyre sat down next to Darius and across from me. Darius didn’t wait for Feyre’s say-so before filling her glass to the brim with wine and shot her a look that said _you look like you need it_. Feyre gave him a faint smile of thanks.

Rhys sat down next to Feyre. Cassian sat down next to me and across from Rhys. Azriel slid into the seat next to Rhysand.

Elain was clutching her fork hard enough to turn her knuckles white. A faint smile bloomed on Azriel’s face as he noticed Elain’s fingers, but he kept silent, focusing instead on trying to adjust his wings around the human chair. Cassian was doing the same.

I suppressed a snort at the spectacle and looked to Darius for help who seemed to be thinking along the same lines as me. He got out of his chair and fetched two stools from the adjoining room. “Use these, you two look ridiculous.”

There was a bit of awkward shuffling and a few muffled _thank yous_ as Cassian and Azriel settled into their new seats with more ease. Darius carted the massive, ornate chairs out of the room with absolutely no signs of visible strain—sometimes I wished I was a massive, muscular man.

Feyre sighed through her nose at the spectacle and started yanking lids off of various dishes and casseroles.  Poached salmon with dill and lemon from the hothouse, whipped potatoes, roast chicken with beets and turnips from the root cellar, and some casserole of egg, game meat, and leeks. Seasonal food—whatever was left at the end of the winter.

Everyone scooped food onto their plates. I just filled up my glass of wine and took a meagre serving of potatoes—I didn’t like fish, beets, turnips. The rest of it I just wasn’t in the mood for. As usual, I really just wasn’t hungry.

Anika and Darius glared at me.

I put a little more potato on my plate.

Rhys was digging into his chicken without hesitation. Cassian and Azriel and Darius were eating like they hadn’t had a meal in months.

I watched Feyre take a bite of food and fight a cringe—at least someone understood.

Unfortunately, Nesta was watching Feyre. “Is something wrong with our food?” she said flatly.

“No.” Feyre took another bite with visible effort—I did too.

“Yes…” I muttered into my plate, “It tastes like mud.” Nesta shot me a glare that promised violence.

“So you can’t eat normal food anymore—or are you too good for it?” A question and a challenge. Why hadn’t I locked Nesta in the basement for this?

Rhys’s fork clanked on his plate. Elain made a small, distressed noise. Darius and I groaned in unison.

Feyre laid her hand flat on the table.  “I can eat, drink, fuck, and fight just as well as I did before. Better, even.”

Cassian choked on his water. Azriel shifted on his seat, angling to spring between them.

Nesta let out a low laugh. Piece of shit—she couldn’t be decent for five minutes. I’d lock her up in the basement after dinner.

I flicked a piece of potato at Nesta. I embraced my toddler-like mentality whole-heartedly.

Rhys didn’t so much as blink as he said evenly to Nesta, “If you ever come to Prythian, you will discover why your food tastes so different.”

Nesta looked down her nose at him. “I have little interest in ever setting foot in your land, so I’ll have to take your word on it.”

“Nesta, please,” Elain murmured.

“Yes, do shut up, Nesta,” I agreed.

Cassian was sizing up Nesta, a gleam in his eyes that I could only interpret as a warrior finding himself faced with a new, interesting opponent. Nesta shifted her attention to him.

She snarled softly, “What are you looking at?”

Cassian’s brows rose—little amusement to be found now. “Someone who let her youngest sister risk her life every day in the woods while she did nothing. Someone who let a fourteen-year-old child go out into that forest, so close to The Wall.” I couldn’t agree more. “Your sister died—died to save my people. She is willing to do so again to protect you from war. So don’t expect me to sit here with my mouth shut while you sneer at her for a choice she did not get to make—and insult my people in the process.”

Anika looked torn between breaking into applause and sinking into her chair. Darius looked ready to either fight Nesta with his bare hands or chug one of the full bottles of wine on the table in front of him. I was in the same headspace as Darius.

Nesta dismissed him entirely.

Elain’s voice wobbled as she said to him, “It … it is very hard, you understand, to … accept it.” She cast her pleading eyes to Azriel and Rhys. “We are raised this way. We hear stories of your kind crossing the wall to hurt us. Our own neighbor, Clare Beddor, was taken, her family murdered, Zoya was ripped open, her bones and organs were hanging out of her when she got back here and Nesta had to hold her down while the wound was cauterized…”

My side twinged and I couldn’t suppress a flinch at the memory of the red-hot blades being pressed into my side—

I stared down at my plate. Unmoving. Unblinking.

Elain said, “It’s all very disorienting.”

“I can imagine,” Azriel said. Cassian flashed him a glare. But Azriel’s attention was on my sister, a polite, bland smile on his face. Her shoulders loosened a bit. 

Elain sat a little higher as she said to Cassian, “And as for Feyre’s hunting during those years and Zoya’s…profession, it was not Nesta’s neglect alone that is to blame. We were scared, and had received no training, and everything had been taken, and we failed her. Both of us.”

My profession—right. They still thought I was a prostitute. Weird.

I should fix that.

Nesta said nothing, her back rigid.

Feyre gripped Nesta’s arm, drawing her attention. “Can we just…start over?”

Nesta merely hissed, “Fine.” And went back to eating.

Elain said to Azriel, perhaps the only two civilized ones here, “Can you truly fly?”

He set down his fork, blinking. I might have even called him self-conscious. He said, “Yes. Cassian and I hail from a race of faeries called Illyrians. We’re born hearing the song of the wind.”

“That’s very beautiful,” she said. “Is it not—frightening, though? To fly so high?”

“It is sometimes,” Azriel said. Cassian tore his relentless attention from Nesta long enough to nod his agreement. “If you are caught in a storm, if the current drops away. But we are trained so thoroughly that the fear is gone before we’re out of swaddling.” 

Lucky bastards. They could _fly_. Why didn’t humans get any fun abilities?

“You look like High Fae,” Nesta cut in, her voice like a honed blade. “But you are not?”

“Only the High Fae who look like them,” Cassian drawled, waving a hand to Feyre and Rhys, “are High Fae. Everyone else, any other differences, mark you as what they like to call ‘lesser’ faeries.”

Rhys at last said, “It’s become a term used for ease, but masks a long, bloody history of injustices. Many lesser faeries resent the term—and wish for us all to be called one thing.”

“Rightly so,” Cassian said, drinking from his water.

I leaned away from my only half-cleared plate and drained my glass in one go. Some little part of me balked at the alcohol but I couldn’t put a finger on _why_. “Write your letter to the queens tonight. One of us will head down to the village tomorrow to dispatch it. I’ll put my name on the cover of the letter—that should get it sent straight to the queens.” Feyre shot me a quizzical glance. “I’m a high-ranking member of a merchant’s guild based in Amre. I could probably buy off most of the queens if I wanted to.” Not a boast—a fact.

…Maybe a little bit of a boast.

Feyre laughed softly and shook her head, “You always said that you’d be the queen of merchants one day.”

I twirled my fork absently, “Do you think it would be out of line for me to tell the queens to call me ‘your majesty?’”

Feyre and Cassian snorted. Elain and Azriel suppressed a smile. Rhys loosed a small grin, his night-sky eyes dancing with laughter.

Anika and Darius rolled their eyes in perfect unison—they had a lot of practice.

Nesta was unamused, “I’d suggest bracing yourselves for prejudices far deeper than ours. And contemplating how you plan to get us all out of this mess should things go sour.”

“We’ll take that into account,” Rhys said smoothly.

Nesta went on, utterly unimpressed by any of us, “I assume you’ll want to stay the night.”

Feyre answered, “If it’s not too much trouble, then yes. We’ll leave after breakfast tomorrow.”

Nesta didn’t smile, but Elain beamed. “Good. I think there are a few bedrooms ready—”

“We’ll need two,” Rhys interrupted quietly. “Next to each other, with two beds each.”

I narrowed my eyes at him.

“Magic is different across The Wall,” Rhys explained, “So our shields, our senses, might not work right. I’m taking no chances. Especially in a house with a woman betrothed to a man who gave her an iron engagement ring, and…” he glanced at me “…someone who has more ash and ash weapons at her disposal than the rest of the human population put together.”

I shrugged, “Guilty.” Rhys wasn’t wrong by any measure—but he didn’t have anything to fear from me. If Feyre liked him, he was safe. Graysen and Lord Nolan on the other hand—yeah, I’d worry about them.

Elain flushed a bit. “The—the bedrooms that have two beds aren’t next to each other,” she murmured.

“We’ll move things around,” I sighed, glancing at Darius. “You’re helping.”

He scowled, speaking up for the first time that night, “Why me?”

“You let me drink alcohol when I wasn’t allowed to today, for a reason I can’t remember,” I supplied, refilling my glass again. Elain clapped a hand to her mouth in unison with Anika.

“I’m missing something,” I stated, looking between the two of them.

“My wedding dress fitting was supposed to be tomorrow,” Elain breathed, eyes wide in horror.

“No problem, we can reschedule,” I supplied. “Darius, would you mind running the letters that need to go to Elain’s friends and the tailor down to the Inn where Anna is staying so she can have them delivered tonight?” I wiggled my eyebrows lewdly at him. “You can give her a more comprehensive goodbye before her break.”

“I don’t think she’d mind,” Anika chimed in, grinning at Darius’s discomfort.

“Shut up,” he muttered, beet-red. “And sure, I’ll run the messages down to her.”

“Thank you,” Elain said, smiling briefly at him. He returned her smile readily—their relationship was an amicable, if strange, one. “I’ll write them right now.”

Nesta just rose to her feet, a slim pillar of steel, and said to no one in particular, “If we’re done eating, then this meal is over.”

And that was that.

My human sisters went to clean the dishes.

The fae had retreated to their rooms and started writing their letter. Darius ran off with Elain’s letters to see Anna. He’d only straightened out his clothing about five times before leaving the house, Anika in tow. They’d wanted to stop for a drink at the inn—I hadn’t.

I made myself useful—I paced.

Up and down flights of stairs. At some point my hand picked up an ash dagger, honed and deadly, and started twirling it.

Feyre and I needed to talk.

Away from prying, pointed fae ears.

She was my little sister and she was—off. Struggling.

I kept pacing.

Kept twirling the ash dagger.

Feyre was hurting—

She needed help, and I wasn’t sure if her new court would provide enough—

I gave the dagger another twirl.


	34. Chapter Thirty Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I banged this together in thirty minutes with no editing, so I'm sorry about any mistakes. Let me know what you think :) and happy new year

“I made you breakfast.”

“This is a plate of fruit,” Feyre stated, staring at the plate. Honestly, ‘fruit’ was a generous term—it was three peeled oranges.

“It’s the only thing I can’t burn.” Thankfully, my little sister was forgiving of my shortcomings and she started digging in. I slumped in my chair with, as always, a leg flung over the arm rest. “You mentioned last night that food tastes better in Prythian.”

Feyre nodded in affirmation. Her cheeks were bulging out, giving her the distinct appearance of a chipmunk. She’d done that when we were young—it was cute that she kept that little habit. “Ok,” I started, “If that’s true I need you to bring back cake and alcohol when you next visit.” Feyre snorted in disbelief. “I need cake and alcohol,” I pulled the remaining orange away from her despite her protests, “And you don’t get this orange if you don’t respect my needs.”

I popped a small piece of it into my mouth. I wasn’t hungry. I pushed the plate back towards her, “I don’t want those.”

Feyre snorted and went right back to shoveling it into her mouth with enough enthusiasm to rival Darius and the two Illyrians.

Feyre looked—good. She looked healthy. She had color in her cheeks and flesh on her bones, but not as much as she’d had when she’d come back from Prythian the first time. Something had gone wrong—badly wrong. I’d push it when she brought it up, there was no point in forcing her into talking about something she wasn’t ready to face.

“What did your friends think of us?”

“Rhysand said that Nesta was a delight.”

“Nesta’s her own creature. That’s the nicest thing I can say about her.” Feyre smirked and finished her orange, relaxing back into the chair. She looked more at ease than she had last night.

“That’s what I told him too.”

“Cassian…or as I like to call him Darius Part Two…” Feyre gave a belly-laugh at that “…seems pretty preoccupied with Nesta. They could have fun and Nesta could stop having a broom up her ass if they both managed to stop wanting to kill each other.”

Feyre shuddered at the thought of the havoc the two would wreak if they decided to stop fighting.

“He said Elain should not be marrying that lord’s son,” Feyre hissed, looking more forlorn than she had a while. “He said it might be a good thing that I’m not invited to their wedding.”

“Ass,” I muttered, noting the way Feyre’s shoulders tensed at the memory. “Am I allowed to kick him?”

She quirked a groomed brow in question. “You want to kick the High Lord of the Night Court?” Her mouth twisted into a wry smile.

“There’s no law against it on this side of The Wall, in fact, it’s probably encouraged. Maybe I’ll stop being listed as “wanted” by one of the queens.”

Her eyes bugged in shock, “You’re wanted by the queens?”

I nodded cheerfully, “Darius and I put a hat in the shape of a rather compromising part of the male anatomy on the head of one of their statues in a square in Amre. We got locked up and I sprung us from the queens’ prison with a hairpin and a lot of luck. There’re a few wanted posters up around Amre. They always get my nose wrong in the drawings,” I complained.

Feyre’s mouth was hanging open. “You are my hero.”

“Are there any statues of Rhys that I can give the same treatment to?”

She barked a laugh and shook her head, leaning back into her chair. “You know what? I bet he’d actually be flattered.”

“Cassian seems like he would help me.”

Feyre nodded in assent, “He’d be thrilled to.”

“What did Rhys say about me?” I asked with a cheeky grin, prompting Feyre to roll her eyes at me. “Come on…” I whined, sticking my lower lip out petulantly, “be a busybody gossip.” I’d never emotionally progressed beyond a five-year-old.

“He said that you seemed volatile,” Feyre whispered, pulling at her embroidered sleeve, “That you were dangerous to fae. But that you’d be useful in a war.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “I—I want you to know that I would never do anything to hurt you or anyone dear to you. Feyre—” I searched in vain for words “—you’re my little sister. I can’t put it any other way. You’re my little sister and I will support and love you no matter what. I don’t care what you’ve done or what’s happened to you…you’re my little sister.”

Feyre looked down at her knotted fingers and glanced at the window. It was still dark outside. There was no movement anywhere on our grounds. She’d be leaving in a little while with the three males—no doubt they were awake and keeping a distance to let us talk.

I was a fighter; I’d killed without much of a problem and I fought without much of a problem. But those males—they were warriors. Soldiers. They had discipline and training I could never hope to match. They could protect Feyre better than I could, and I was significantly less fun to look at.

“Do you mean that?” Feyre whispered, wringing out her hands. “Do you really mean that you don’t care what I’ve done?”

“Yes.”

She deflated a little. “Someday, soon, I’ll tell you. But not—not now.”

“Are you doing ok Feyre? You don’t have to talk to me, but please, talk to _someone_ ,” I begged. I’d never begged in my life—for anything—but I’d beg my little sister to look after herself.

“I don’t know. Everything is happening so quickly that I don’t know what to feel.” It was more honest than she’d probably been in a while.

“Anything you need…I’m here. I’m probably useless, but I’m here and I’ll do anything I can.” She smiled softly.

“You’re not useless, Zoya.”

Our moment was ruined by Darius crashing through the doors to the dining room. His shirt was on backwards and if he had hair it would probably be sticking up in every possible direction. “What’s for breakfast?” He asked, his voice still rough with sleep. He’d had a late night last night with Anna, running letters all around town and he’d ended it with a drink in a tavern with her. It was good that he was getting somewhere.

He’d also taken the liberty of using my money instead of the considerable salary that I paid him.

Rude.

“No breakfast for you,” I declared, “You’ve been naughty, spending my money.”

He looked at me blearily. “Do you know how much I spent?”

“No.”

“Do you know how much you’re paying me?”

No. “Vaguely.”

“Then that means you can afford to have me spending your money.” Fair point. I could spend millions every week and still not run out of money until the day I died. That little fact didn’t get him out of the doghouse.

“Breakfast is in the kitchen and it is whatever you can manage not to burn now that Mrs. Patmore is visiting family.”

“Bold of you to assume I won’t eat burnt food,” he muttered, staggering out of the dining room, heading towards the kitchen. He smacked head-first into Cassian. The winged male staggered slightly, and Darius swayed dangerously. He really wasn’t a morning person.

Cassian seemed slightly affronted at being run into but the amused smirk he wore ruined the effect.

Seeing them side-by-side made it obvious just how similar their builds were. Sans wings, of course. Their coloring was different too—Darius was fish belly white, as was normal for anyone raised in Amre’s rainy climate, whereas Cassian was tanned beyond belief.

“Sorry,” Darius muttered, staggering past Cassian. He still hadn’t batted an eye at their pointed ears or wings. Honestly, if he was employing his usual levels of observation he just hadn’t noticed. It had been the source of more than a few fights with women he’d been with—he didn’t notice when they changed their hair or tried something new. They would dismiss it until he pointed out slight variations in kicks or punches that I threw. They though he was unobservant—the truth was he just didn’t care about “trivial” things.

Cassian watched him go. “He’s not used to early mornings.” Not quite a question.

“Yeah,” I agreed, “He had a late night.” Cassian’s eyebrows shot up and he looked pointedly at me. He was reading this situation wrong. Feyre was too if her wide eyes were anything to go by.

“Both of you get your heads out of the gutter.”

Azriel stalked into the dining room. The shadows on the walls skittered slightly. This guy got wings and an interesting power; the world was not fair. If he and Cassian were here it meant on thing—

“Time to go,” Azriel murmured.

Feyre froze.

“Give us a minute you two,” I didn’t think twice about the fact I’d essentially ordered them.

“Of course,” Azriel said, backing out of the room and taking Cassian with him. Those two were an interesting pair. They’d be fun to fight. I’d die in a few seconds, but those seconds would be exhilarating. I was itching to just run up behind one of them and push them to see if I could start something. Bad idea—but so tempting.

I turned to Feyre who looked like she was having a bit of a hard time fighting back tears. My big sister instincts kicked in and I rubbed her arm awkwardly. “I have something to show you.”

Feyre’s eyes were rimmed with silver at this point but she cocked her head in question.

I rolled up my right sleeve and showed Feyre my forearm—the sprig of off-colored foxglove tattooed there. The same spring of foxglove that had been on the table leg of our old, decaying home near the cabin woods—that I’d stolen from there when I came back from The Wall for the first time without Feyre.

Feyre was crying in earnest now.

I pulled my jacket off and then my shirt, leaving me in a flimsy undershirt. The demon on my back was on display, and its left wing and hellfire was molding into maple leaves that covered my left shoulder and traveled down my upper arm. They were the same maple leaves that had decorated my drawer back in that old cabin.

Feyre’s artwork—all of it.

Eric had copied it beautifully, but it was Feyre’s artwork.

She was sobbing honestly now and gently tracing the edge of the pieces. “When?”

“After you left to save them.” Him—High Lord Testicle? Tool? But there was no need to bring him up. Not while my sister was still healing.

“You didn’t get the color of the foxglove corrected,” she whispered, mopping up her eyes with the embroidered sleeves of her gown. 

“I like it better like this.” And I did—the blue was nice. It contrasted nicely with the red covering the rest of my body. It was also Feyre’s work, so it was perfect. “You’ll be back when we hear from the queens?”

“Yes,” Feyre said, pulling herself together. She still looked a mess from crying, but she was more composed than she’d been a minute ago. I pulled my clothing back into place and looped my arm through hers.

The three males were waiting for us in the entrance hall. Anika was there too she whispered a few words to Feyre, coaxing a smile from my sister before giving her a brief hug which Feyre readily returned. They’d gotten along well when Feyre had been here the last time, when she had been human.

Rhys and the Illyrians were examining Feyre’s disheveled appearance with a critical eye.

We froze as my other sisters appeared at the top of the main staircase. My twin was safely sequestered behind Nesta and she looked apologetically down at Feyre and waved. Nesta stood there, a pillar of slim steel, blocking the view and doing nothing to see our little sister off. Ass.

I’d be having words with her.

Rhys gave me a brief bow the same way he’d done for my sisters when he’d first arrived. “Thank you for having us.” I waved him off.

“Thank you for tolerating us.”

Azriel gave me a barely perceptible smile as he turned to leave, and Cassian’s eyes were glued to Nesta—they probably had been since she’d arrived.

The Illyrians shuffled out of the door awkwardly—Cassian still watching my older sister.  Rhys left next. Those tight pants really did wonders for him.

Feyre gave me a bone-breaking hug which I returned with nearly as much strength. She needed to learn to control her strength a little more.

She followed the others out the door silently—we didn’t have anything else to say. Not at the moment, at least.

I went out a moment later to find an empty yard with no footprints in the snow.

It was a waiting game now—waiting for the queens to come and work.

Waiting for them to come to heel.

If they didn’t—I’d make them.


	35. Chapter Thirty Five

_Dear Mistress Archeron,_

_Your proposal to organize a summit between the faeries and the queens has been denied. If you have any further questions or proposals please contact Mister Adrian Lyman, senior staff member for the queens’ coalition. His office is located at 2315 Westridge Drive, Amre._

_Best Wishes,_

_Sir Leon McGarry_

_Senior Advisor to the Queen’s Coalition_

_Commander of the Queens’ Armies_

“Best wishes?” Roared Darius, “ _Best wishes_?! They could just replace that with, ‘kindly go fuck yourself, you mad loon,’ and the letter would have the same meaning!”

Anika was ripping the envelop into little pieces and setting them into a neat pile on my desk. At least she was methodical.

“I feel like there should be a “Master” before my name somewhere…” I complained—their disrespect was impressive.

Nesta’s nose was flaring in a perfect impersonation of mother. If the queens were here she’d probably rip them into shreds—never mind their security or that she had no training. I’d hold her purse while she did it. I might even make posters to support her.

Elain looked confused. “They gave you the address of a senior staff member, surely that means that they are open to negotiation?”

“Senior staff member likely means an assistant who has worked there for a few years,” I muttered, watching Anika strike a match and set fire to the shredded envelop on my desk. It would leave a scorch mark. “It means they want us to whine at a no-one so that they don’t have to deal with us.”

“So…that’s it?” Elain asked, wringing her hands, “They let the faeries come for us and they do nothing?”

“This isn’t it,” Everyone’s heads swiveled towards me as I gently folded up the letter and slid it into my breast pocket. “I’m heading to Amre. Anika, Darius, Nesta…you’re all coming with me. Elain, I need you to stay here and manage the house and my men, just smile at them and they’ll bend over backwards for you. Just tell the to carry on with my orders.”

Nesta’s eyes flared at being ordered around but she did not protest.

“How?” Elain asked, “We have no leverage—we’re _begging_ them to meet with us.”

“Our leverage is in this letter,” I patted my breast pocket fondly, “One Mister Adrian Lyman lives on 2315 Westridge Drive, and guess who he pays his rent to?”

My sisters were a little confused.

Darius and Anika were smiling wickedly.

I took pity on my sisters. “All of Westridge Drive is owned by Adrassy—my old boss.”

* * *

 

My men outfitted our fastest horses. Anna and a few others packed our bags. Elain gave a brief speech to the men remaining on the grounds and she was greeted with raucous applause and support. She’d do fine.

I climbed into the carriage, dressed head-to-toe black and armed to the teeth. Money meant I could afford a lot of pockets to fit all my knives in. Nesta stepped in after me, all finery and grace, a different kind of weapon. Darius was outfitted in clothes and weapons nearly identical to mine. Anika was in a simple, floating dress.

We were an interesting quartet.

It took the better part of a day wit the horses going at full tilt.

My house was well-lit and warm. Daisy gathered our coats meekly and started unloading our bags. Darius and Anika scattered to their respective rooms. I showed Nesta to hers.

I wasn’t going to bother with sleep—not now.

I needed to move before the queens could. They had man power and loyal subjects—I had an impressive amount of money and an unhealthy amount of suppressed rage.

I needed to work while they thought the odds were still in their favor.

* * *

 

I was hauling Nesta past pools of mysterious bodily fluids and puddles of rain. People hadn’t stopped staring at Nesta in her finery—the rest of us were in plain tunics and pants. Darius and Anika were hand in hand and practically skipping through the red-light district. I agreed with the sentiment. People jostled each other and swore and spat. The women’s necklines were lower than any other place in the city and the hems of their fine dresses were stained with waste as they flirted and lured men and women into their beds. I could pick out the pickpockets drafting between the people in their winding patterns, hands flashing in and out of pockets that weren’t theirs.

Rude, deafening music poured out of the establishments lining the streets and the air was thick with smoke and alcohol. It was near impossible to get in enough air.

It was good to be home.

There was a familiarity to the winding, filthy streets. It was still fun to watch all the massive, armed men strut past me in all their cheap flash. Some little part of me wanted one to run into me so I could really ruin his night. That’d just be great.

We’d taken a carriage down the Vye to the red-light district and the second we’d stepped out Nesta had stopped looking pleased with Amre. In fact, she’d been hissing her hatred for the fact that I was dragging her off to my old workplace, which she assumed was…a brothel.

I wasn’t sure if the truth was better or worse.

We passed by a three-story establishment with a large, familiar sign that read “The Menagerie”—Anika’s old workplace. She’d danced until her feet bled in that building to scrap together a living wage. Through the two large windows you could see the normal band playing in the far corner and the crowded bar, and the men and women in little more than scraps dancing.

Anika used to be one of them.

For everything my money bought, I was grateful that it could afford Anika freedom.

I recognized one the bouncers in front of the establishment—a junior fighter with a shaved head and green eyes. She caught sight of Anika and gave her a wave and a smile which Anika returned. Anika pranced down the street with the grace of a dancer, weaving between people with ease. It was a fight to tear my eyes away from the way her dress hugged in all the right places.

The man who’d pissed me off last time for talking about Anika like she was an object was nowhere to be seen. I’d beaten him twice for it—thoroughly. Once on the street and once in The Pits. Jameson was still on my shit list.

Nesta was eyeing the establishment with distaste. “Is this where you work?”

“No,” and I kept dragging her down the streets.

We rounded a sharp turn and found ourselves face-to-face with a large brick building, decked out in flashy colors and music blasting out of the doors. The Palace.

Anika and Darius waved cheerily at Rotty, one of my old colleagues. He looked like he’d seen a ghost, but in a heartbeat he was jumping up and down and pulling the two of them into a hug. He didn’t look as intimidating as a junior fighter should. He’d always been a big puppy at heart and a lightweight at the bar. Darius and I had talked his sister into letting us stuff him into dresses while he was unconscious more than once. I dropped Nesta off next to the long line of prostitutes that waited by the door to get in ever night.

A few of them nodded at me in recognition.

A few of them had bruises—

They hadn’t had those when I’d worked here.

I gave Rotty a warm hug and glanced at the prostitutes in question. He just shook his head, the message was all too clear: _Do. Not. Ask._

Not good. Very not good.

“It’s good to see you,” I murmured, grabbing his face and examining him. “You look like shit.” He cracked a warm smile—a strange expression on a seven-foot mound of muscle.

“I missed you. Shifts are boring without you.”

Rotty had a few bruises too—either The Pits were kicking his as or he was letting someone hit him. The only person I’d ever seen him allow a hit from was his sister who batted at his arm when he said something particularly vulgar.

Rotty glanced over my shoulder at Nesta in question. “My sister,” I explained, “The heinous, bitchy one.”

“My kind of woman.”

“You’ll take that back in about five minutes.”

I waved Nesta over and she hesitantly approached, edging around mysterious puddles of who-knows-what. Her back was ramrod straight and she met Rotty’s gaze without flinching. He smiled warmly at her and gave her a dip of his head in greeting, “It’s good to meet you.” Nesta simply nodded and continued looking disgusted by her surroundings. Her social skills were outstanding.

Anika was currently hugging one of the prostitutes standing in line—a red-headed man with startling green eyes. He’d been a dancer at The Menagerie with her. Darius was bouncing on his heels and waiting by the door, the five-year old. Nesta looked appalled by all of us.

“Can we head in?” I asked, Rotty nodded and gave my shoulders a squeeze.

“Be careful,” he whispered, “Just…don’t do anything stupid.”

Ominous.

“I never do anything stupid.” He shook his head slowly.

“I mean it…be careful.”

“Rotty…what changed?”

He just waved us in. “Drink later?” I asked, “My house. You know where it is.” Rotty nodded. Nesta looked annoyed.

I threaded my arm through Nesta’s, and to my surprise she did not protest. No doubt she intended to use me as a physical shield if anything went wrong. I pulled her in. Darius and Anika copied us.

The regulars were there, and if it was possible, The Palace was more extravagant than it had been before. More surfaces were gilded. There were more rare alcohols behind the bar. The patrons were dressed in real jewels instead of the fake flash that was so popular in the district. The gambling tables were all full with men screaming for more—more women, more drinks, more oysters. The servers and floor bosses, all dressed in head to toe green, flitted about. I got smiles and a few all-out waves.

As usual, Adrassy was sitting at the bar in a fine, tailored three-piece suit with his signature emeralds decorating his fingers. They glinted brilliantly in the light as he made his classic, exaggerated gestures. He was, if possible, even more rounded and ruddy.

The Palace and Adrassy were creatures of excess.

He had a beautiful young man with flaxen hair and brilliant blue eyes perched on his knee. The man’s face tugged at the edges of my memory—he’d been flavor of the week right before I’d headed north and had my life flipped upside down by High Lord Tool. He’d managed to keep Adrassy’s interest for months, a rare feat. The young man had been fresh-faced and smiling brilliantly.

Now—

His face was covered with bruises.

He wasn’t making eye contact with anyone, preferring to stare down at his fine britches and fiddle with a napkin on the bar. Something had broken him.

Whatever was plaguing the girls and Rotty was going after him as well.

The men surrounding Adrassy were all howling with laughter and clearly deep in their cups for this early in the night. The men at the gambling tables were counting cards and watching the knot of racous men enviously. To be in Adrassy’s inner circle for the night was a high honor. I pushed the men aside and found myself face-to-face with Adrassy. They grunted and snarled but quickly shut up to shrink away from Darius and ogle Anika and my sister. Nesta was clutching my arm a little harder as the men leered. I recognized them all—regulars and brothel owners. I’d probably thrown half of them out at one point or another.

They stopped leering when they saw who I was.

They fell dead silent and stepped back.

Adrassy stopped laughing and let his jaw hang slack. His black eyes glinted with mirth. “Demon.”

Nesta’s eyes shot to Darius—hers were the only pair that did so. Everyone in The Palace was looking at me.

I offered him a proffered hand, which he took. “These days I’m more prone to sitting behind a desk.” Adrassy nodded and everyone shifted to pay attention to their card games and drinks. A collective sigh of relief and disappointment—they’d wanted to see a showdown. Adrassy waved off his knot of friends but kept the young man on his lap, and patted the black leather barstools invitingly.

We took a seat.

“That’s right…” Adrassy mused, tapping the rim of his glass to ask for a refill. His emeralds glinted darkly with each swish of his hand. “You’re a member of The Guild now. Master Archeron does have a nice ring to it.” I smirked and flagged the bartender, pointing to Adrassy’s glass.

I glanced at the flaxen-haired man’s napkin—he’d drawn something on it, but the napkin had gotten wet and the image had blurred. It looked like a koi fish.

“It does,” I agreed, leaning against the polished bar. The bartender gave me my drink and a smile—he’d worked here for years and had called me to carry heavy crates for him. His arms still didn’t look strong, so he was probably still asking for help.

“Anika,” Adrassy said, taking her hand and giving it a brief kiss, “You look more radiant than ever.”

She gave him a smile and I glared, resting a hand on her hip.

She was very much taken.

She leaned into me and relaxed, shooting a brief smile at the flaxen-haired boy who seemed alarmed to even be noticed. Adrassy noticed my glare and put his hands up in submission. “No harm intended, of course.”

Of course.

“And Darius,” Darius nodded as Adrassy acknowledged him, “and who is this young lady?” Adrassy asked, his eyes roving up and down my sister, lingering. Fucking pervert.

“My sister, Nesta,” I said, leaving the subject alone. Adrassy held out a hand expectantly for hers but he never got it, Nesta just sent a glare his way that would have made most men wilt. Unfortunately, Adrassy had grown up in the sewers of the red-light district like the rest of us—my sister was nothing to him.

“She’s nearly as temperamental as you are,” he remarked, “I recall your patience wearing thin more than once in rather spectacular and explosive fashions.” Nesta looked a little appalled while Darius and Anika had dreamy expressions on their faces—they enjoyed my outbursts.

“Adrassy…I’m not just here to catch up. I need something.”

The young man on Adrassy’s knee tensed as he leaned forward. “And what do I get in return?”

“A fight.”

Adrassy’s answering grin was confirmation enough.

A starving man before a feast. 

* * *

 

Rotty was still standing guard when we left. I gave his hand a friendly squeeze and he wrapped me in a one-armed hug.

Darius wrapped himself around the both of us.

“Come by to my house after your shift,” I murmured into his side, voice muffled. “Bring your sister, we can have a nice dinner.” Rotty gave a dry laugh.

“I’m sorry, I can’t. I’m picking up an extra shift and fighting later tonight,” He replied, disentangling himself from Darius and I. He gave me a pat on the head. “The bank is threatening to take the house, so my sister and I are working overtime.”

I knew how he felt—I’d been there. I’d been there too many times with my family and in Amre. The idea of having your house torn away—

“Ok,” I gave his back a reassuring rub, “Darius will go with you to The Pits later tonight, keep you company, bring you dinner. You’ll need a square meal.”

Darius looked a little bewildered. “I will?”

I didn’t look away from Rotty, who looked beyond grateful at the prospect of a meal—he probably wasn’t eating enough so that he could save up for the house. “You will,” I confirmed. I’d have Darius pack extra for Rotty’s sister—enough food for two weeks. He wouldn’t accept any more. Pride was as good a killer as plague.

Anika was chatting to the same prostitute from before, Nesta was standing between the thee of us looking a little lost.

I broke away and went over to Anika, Nesta looked pissed that we were still loitering in the entrance of a gambling hall.

The redheaded man looked at us, his eyes were about as brilliant as Adrassy’s emeralds. My old boss would be head over heels for him. I smiled and he readily returned it.

“So you’re the Demon?” He asked, looking me up and down.

“So you’re a friend of Anika’s?” I asked, cocking a brow. His smile turned genuine. He offered me a manicured, clean hand. I took it.

“My name’s Mikhail. I used to be a tiger at The Menagerie.” I gave him a cursory glance—he certainly fit their type. Lithe and graceful. Bruised—his neck and wrists.

“What’s with the bruises?” His smile disappeared. He tensed up. So did a few others in line. Anika looked like she wanted an answer too.

“Adrassy likes his drink.”

I nodded slowly—he’d always been teetering on the edge. I wasn’t surprised that he was finally in an all-out plummet.

“The boy on his lap gets it the worst?”

“Yes,” Mikhail said, scuffing his boot against the filthy street. “Petyr gets it worst. He’s—he’s a nice kid, but he needs the money. He likes drawing,” Mikhail added on with a sad smile.

“I saw a koi on a napkin. He’s talented.”

Mikhail grinned. “Yeah—yeah, he is.” I knew that smile—

“You like Petyr?” He flushed, and Anika ribbed me.

“I do.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, let me know what you think. I love hearing peoples' thoughts.


	36. Chapter Thirty Six

ZOYA POV

Tonight was the night.

Darius had scouted out the best potential fighters when he’d gone to The Pits with Rotty. I needed a show with lots of flash and blood in order to meet Adrassy’s expectations. I’d named my opponents earlier today. They’d agreed a few hours ago—frothing at the mouth to fight the Demon. Posters had gone up around the red-light district, advertising.

To say there was interest would be an understatement.

I slide into my own clothes. There were a few blood stains in it. A few small tears. I started flexing, stretching, rolling out my muscles. Darius was going through the motions with me, rolling out his shoulders. He wasn’t fighting tonight—at least he shouldn’t be.

I didn’t doubt that he’d jump down into the fight if it started going the wrong way.

Stupid man. I loved him.

 Anika had left a few minutes ago. She had her own job tonight.

We ignored the tremor in her hands when we kissed goodbye.

Fights could always go wrong but tonight—

Tonight it was worse.

I felt cool—not hot and itching to move the way I normally did before a fight. There was ice in my veins instead of fire. That had never happened before.

Maybe I was losing it—

Tonight was not the time for this to happen. Outside of this fight being important for the survival of the human race, my life was riding on it.

There had been a rule change in The Pits for my fight—killing was allowed. Encouraged.

Adrassy wanted blood. And he would get it.

But it might just be my blood that would be spilled.

I could die tonight. I could die to get the queens’ attention to give my sisters a chance in hell in this war.

There was no margin for error.

* * *

 

ANIKA POV

Tonight was the night.

Zoya could be killed in a fight. I’d worried about it before—but now the danger was a little too real. Killing was being encouraged.

But I couldn’t worry about that.

I’d slid into my dancing clothes and then a gossamer dress. I pushed Zoya out of my head and my hands stopped shaking. Focus.

The carriage came to a rumbling stop on the side of the Vye. In front of the Bank. Its name didn’t matter, what mattered was that Zoya kept the family fortune there and that Ilse, a fighter who Zoya used to have a crush on, had a husband who worked there. He was a successful accountant. I couldn’t blame him for falling for Ilse’s curvy stature and hazel eyes, but I could blame Zoya for it—never mind that she hadn’t known me at the time.

I rolled my shoulders and stepped out of the carriage.

“Don’t wait up,” I instructed, hurrying up the white marble steps.

This had to go right—there was no margin for error.

* * *

 

ZOYA POV

Our carriage dropped us off in the red-light district. Darius had spent the ride talking Nesta into linking her arm with his in the name of protection. I had a headache and my blood still wasn’t up. I felt cool. Ice cold.

The jostling from the typically rowdy crowd was absent. Instead, everyone scrambled out of my way. There were a few shouts of _good luck_ or _you’re going down, bitch_. Classic red-light district trash talk. We headed down the streets, the shouting following us.

We rounded a corner and found ourselves in the middle of a crowd, all trying to get into The Pits. It looked the way it always had—a normal building. The difference was the basement and the three bouncers out front.

As always, from left to right in there was Pam, a glamorous blonde with a now one-year old daughter. Lafayette was next with his dark skin and over the top personality, dressed in his weight in sequins. Lastly there was Ilse, my old crush and a husband who was an accountant. If all was well, Anika was meeting with him right now.

The clamoring, roiling crowd of people fell silent as I walked past, Darius and Nesta to my right. Nesta leaned over to me, safely sandwiched between the two of us. “What is this place?”

“The Pits.” Here went nothing. “It’s a fighting and gambling hall. Do not show any reaction to what I’m about to say, we’ll talk later. I’ve been a senior fighter here, one of the best, for years. Tonight, I’m fighting a few men…to the death.” Nesta didn’t seem to be breathing. “We need this—we need this to get to the queens.”

I didn’t give her a chance to respond, pushing to the front of the line to the bouncers. I couldn’t manage my normal jaunty wave. Their smiles were subdued.

“You’re in for a rough night, hooker,” Lafayette said, continuing his habit of calling every creature under the sun _hooker_.

“I know,” I breathed, giving him a brief hug and getting a few sequins stuck to me in the process. “Do you know the opponents?”

“They are evil bastards,” Lafayette murmured, Pam and Ilse nodding in agreement. “Became senior fighters pretty fast, they’ve killed pretty regularly. You better look after yourself.” He hesitated and scanned the crowd quickly before dropping his voice even more. “They aren’t the only ones out for blood, hooker, Adrassy has a grudge against you for dropping him. He’s out for blood.”

I smiled a little. I’d suspected.

“So am I.”

I ducked through the door and entered the fighting hall, and like everything in the red-light district, it hadn’t changed. The braziers lining the walls were still burning bright. I kept my normal healthy distance from them—I’d seen too many injuries. The sight of the fire and blistering hot metal still made my side twinge at the memory of being cauterized by the mercenary.

The stone floor was still coated in its filth. The smells was enough to make Nesta gag and for the tension to go out of my shoulders. The bar was in the far corner of the room, swarming with far more people than usual, and no doubt still serving its awful watered-down alcohol. I ignored the crowds that stopped to gawk and the fighters that stopped to flex.

We headed up the staircase and along the walkway encircling the entirety of the room. I headed of Darius’s small private room—I’d lost mine after months of not competing.

Nesta had stopped to stare at the room’s centerpiece: the pit. The swarm of people down below had obstructed her view.

It was as impressive at it always had been. Twenty feet across and it a sandy floor that was permanently stained red. There was a ten-foot drop down to its floor; to unbalance anyone dropping down into it, and to discourage fighters from running away from a fight. There was no roping or barrier to prevent spectators from falling in—which they often did—and anyone who fell in became fair game.

“How often do people die here?”

“It’s a brutal place, but killing isn’t usually aimed for,” I walked over to my sister, Darius was still heading toward his private room, which was section off with some red, ragged, curtains. “Maybe one a night, maximum. It’s usually an accident.”

“Have you ever killed?” Nesta asked, tearing her gaze from the blood-soaked sand and examining me with a critical eye.

“Yes.”

I left her standing there and staring at the sand. The pit lord ordered the start of the next fight and the crowd started screaming as money flashed. I didn’t recognize the fighters and they seemed stiff—they were beginners. Nesta watched them and I took a seat next to Darius.

“How long?”

He glanced at me before continuing to watch the young fighter with a critical eye. One of them tripped over his own feet side-stepping out of a punch’s pathway. Had I ever had footwork that bad?

“Two hours—they’ll get the little fish out of the way and get a bigger crowd in. Then they’ll have a few bloodier senior fights. Then they’ll put you in the ring, when the crowd’s going wild.”

“Who are my opponents?” Darius had scouted senior and junior fighters when he’d brought the food for Rotty and his sister. Darius had made a list of acceptable opponents—five of them. We’d expected Adrassy to choose two or three to go against me—the mad bastard had chosen all of them. There was no doubt about it—Adrassy was pissed at my abandoning him. He was bitter that I’d become more successful than he ever would be. Typical male pride.

He’d pay for this.

I’d expected an entertaining fight—not a bloodbath.

By putting those men in the pit with me Adrassy was signing their death warrants. I might not have been worked up into my usual pre-fight rage, but I have no intention of letting myself die. Or letting my sisters down.

I was running cold and calm but that didn’t mean I’d take a fight lying down.

“Two junior, three senior. One of the junior fighters is a woman, and all of them are good enough to have gone head to head with me before you left. It’ll be hard.”

“I’ve fought Naga,I can’t imagine humans are going to be very challenging anymore.”

Darius gave me a sharp look. “Don’t let your guard down. They’re good. I, unfortunately, made sure of it.”

I gave his hand a brief squeeze. “Don’t blame yourself.”

The fight ended along with the screaming as money changed hands and the spectators cashed in their bets.

The night progressed and got bloodier. A junior fighter suffered a shattered arm and Nesta turned green when it bent. I’d never seen her nauseous before. One younger fighter had their face swell until their eyes welded shut. There were countless other, less notable, injuries. Nesta looked more apprehensive with each one, her knuckles turning white against the railing.

I sat back and watched.

And eventually, my name was called.

And five others were listed—“Caleb, Andrew, Andy, Bess, Theon.”

It didn’t matter which was which—I could pick them out easily. They were the group flexing and stretching by the side of the pit. Maybe— _maybe_ two of them had been junior fighters when I’d left…oh no…I was getting old.

I was told this day would come.

I headed down the stairs and listened to the entire room fall silent. Even my opponents were quiet. Darius gave me a hearty slap on the back. Nesta gave my hand a desperate squeeze. I couldn’t bring myself to look her in the eye.

I was still running cold. What was wrong with me? The feeling was familiar, but I couldn’t place it.

I found my way to the edge of the pit. Adrassy was on the very edge of the pit, an arm around Petyr, a starving man in front of a feast.

The five fighters already inside the fit were looking up at me. Despite themselves I could see a flicker of fear in their eyes.

It was time to go to work.

A few of them would be dead soon. Dead—

The killing calm—I’d felt cool before I’d killed my men.

This wasn’t a fight—this was a slaughter.

I dropped down into the pit, blood-soaked sand spraying.

The fighters across from me squared up, muscles bunching.

The pit lord roared out the rules.

Roared that this fight would be to the death.

I moved—

* * *

 

ANIKA POV

The bank was beautiful, designed and built by Jean Chelles over two hundred years before The War. It had originally been designed as a place of worship for the long-forgotten gods. Once the war was over and we’d done away with our gods the city council and queens decided that people needed something to fill the gaping hole—money.

Once I flashed Zoya’s name I was immediately shown to Ilse’s husband. He was average and well put together, with a head of cropped brown hair and a clean-shaven kind face. His suit was nice, but not extravagant. A working man on a living wage. Edmund was a thoroughly average man.

“What is the nature of your business here tonight?” He asked, smiling and leaning back in his chair. He was allowed to be a little more relaxed around me. I was a client, but also a friend of his wife.

“I need to head down to the vaults to deposit a few items for Zoya,” I gave an apologetic little shrug and a peevish smile, “Family business.”

Edmund smiled, “Of course. I’ll lead the way.” Bless him for being easily swayed by a pretty smile the way most men were. Bless him for not asking questions about the items I was depositing. He led me down a series of white marbled staircases with gilded railings. In the past the vaults had been the chambers of the clergy—full of fun little hidey-holes and secret tunnels. What a shame that none of them were in use today.

He opened a heavy, iron door with a weighty golden key, kept safe on a chair around his neck. Security precautions here really were abysmal. Even a fumbling pickpocket would be able to sneak the key with minimal disturbance. It was a good thing that I was not a green pickpocket—living on the streets for years had been conducive to developing a nimble mind and fingers.

The door swung open silently on well-oiled hinges. They looked after the place well.

He let me into the vault. The golden boxes were organized alphabetically. Lucky then, that Adrassy’s last name was Arch, and therefore close to the Archeron family vault. I turned to Edmund with another honey-sweet smile. “Would you mind giving me a moment? These documents are rather confidential, and you can never be too careful.” Edmund hung his head a little and smiled.

“Of course,” he conceded. I laid a hand on his shoulder briefly to thank him. “I’ll be waiting right outside with the door cracked so that you can get back out.”

“Thank you,” I said warmly.

He hurried out and I opened up my bag, pulling out a worn scroll. Aged to look _just right_. I pulled a heavy golden key out of my sleeve. Edmund’s key. A master key.

Adrassy Arch’s vault opened quietly on perfectly oiled hinges. In it were a few larger jewels—emeralds, no surprises there. And a few scrolls. It was easy enough to find the one that matched the fake in my hand. I swapped them, placing the original in my bag and shutting his vault.

The key slid up my sleeve again and I gently pushed the door leading into the vault open. Edmund was waiting for me on the other side, smiling like a schoolboy. “Put away what you needed?”

I gave him another sickly-sweet smile that he melted into. Men were such idiots. Zoya had been too when she first met me. I still had no idea how I’d managed to fall for the idiot.

“Yes, thank you.” I gave his shoulder another affectionate touch and the key found itself in its original home.

Edmund led me out of the vaults and up the marbled staircase.

Mission accomplished—I could only hope that Zoya was fairing half as well.

* * *

 

ZOYA POV

I moved—

That did it. The screams and jeers from the crowd hit a crescendo and my opponent’s faces drained of color.

Pigs for slaughter—all of them.

I grabbed the first boy’s head and snapped it sideways. His neck gave immediately—twisting at the wrong angle and he hit the dirt. I danced backwards and the remaining four looked sick to their stomachs.

It was impossibly fast and brutal.

I was called the Demon for a reason.

The screams of the crowd made the floor shake. Roars of “Demon” echoed in the room and people frantically tried to change their bets or bet more. No one was cheering for the other five now. The cacophony of laughter, shouting, howls, and screams of my name worsened when my opponents squared themselves up. Their shoulders bunched again, and they readied themselves.

Dressed in all black I became a living shadow. A little corner of my mind was reminded of Azriel. My smooth pacing was a completely different to the stillness and bracing my opponents were doing.

I moved faster than my opponents. The Naga were better training partners than any human could ever be.

The girl flung herself at me with a punch so swift most fighters would have had a hole in their skull. I dodged it smoothly. She was fast, but not fae. I caught her arm in one hand, locking it into a hold and twisting—snapping.

I bit down against my nausea. I hated the sound of bones breaking.

I drove my knee upwards just as she collapsed into the bloodied sand. My knee slammed into her jaw and I heard it shatter. She didn’t stand a chance—not as I landed another impossibly fast kick or flung her like a ragdoll into one of my other opponents, pinning him to the sand.

It was so fast, so brutal, even the remaining opponents didn’t know what happened until she was on the ground, face and arm smashed beyond recognition. She wasn’t breathing.

I was already dancing on my toes.

Three left. The trapped one frantically scrabbled out from under the girl’s corpse.

They lunged forwards in tandem.

Punches and kicks flew past me—they all missed. The crowd screamed louder but my blood wasn’t up.

I went on the offensive.

Punch after punch, block, lunge, duck, spin…I could see the crowd out of the corners of my eyes. They were a writhing thing, foaming at the mouth at my swiftness, my skill. The feeling of having people chant “Demon” lost its surreal quality. They were all just background noise. I wasn’t a fighter—I was a butcher. And some depraved part of me was fine with that.

I jumped when one of the bigger men went for my torso. My legs locked around his head and I rolled—flipping him. Bending his body out of shape. I uncoiled off the floor, but he lay there—stunned. His friends weren’t fast enough to stop the heel of my boot from crushing his head.

Again, and again, and again—

Until it was a bloody mess.

Until he stopped breathing.

Two left.

I wheeled around, sand spraying, and landed a kick to his friend’s body, sending him sprawling backwards. It didn’t give me much time, but it was enough—

I rounded on the other one. He slammed into my side, knocking me into the ground. The crowd screamed louder. Adrassy was egging the boy on. I slumped, gasping for air.

The man straddled me, driving his fist down towards my face—

I grabbed it.

And twisted.

It took less than a heartbeat to hear the bones crackle and give. The boy stopped screaming when I punched him. Knocking him out. He didn’t even twitch.

One left.

His was still gasping in the sand. It was almost too easy to land a kick to his stomach that sent him flying into the rock wall surrounding the pit.

I flung my arms out, turning in a slow circle, Death triumphant.

The answering roar of the crowd made me wonder if the ceiling was going to come crashing down.

Up above him Adrassy was looking down, wide-eyed and grinning, a starving man before a feast. Petyr had a death grip on his arm, her knuckles had gone white. Adrassy was excited and furious—furious that I wasn’t one of the corpses on the floor.

Five against one and it still wasn’t even close to a fair fight.

The boy regained his footing and foolishly hurtled towards me. I whirled, catching him and locking his arms and neck into a hold. I twisted his arms hard, leaving him to shriek desperately in pain. But he didn’t yield.

I hitched my ankle around his and pulled, slamming his considerable weight into the sand and grabbing his head.

Adrassy needed a show if he was going to help us. The body count was rising too fast before the war even started, but I didn’t really have the option of stopping now.

Some sick part of me had always wanted to try this after I’d seen Darius do it—

I started squeezing the boy’s head, thumbs pushing into his eyes.

His screaming hit a fever pitch. “Please,” he screamed, begging, “ _please, please, please, stop! Stop!_ ”

His skull gave.

Brain matter splattered all over the pit.

The crowd screamed. There were a few insane laughs from the crowd—one of them might have been mine. Up on the balcony I looked up just in time to see Nesta double over retching. Darius, on the other hand, was grinning and roaring his support, holding a fistful of freshly-won money.

The boy’s corpse was completely limp. Scattered around the pit were the misshapen corpses of his friends, and the one that was still breathing would die of infection in a week is he was lucky.

I panted, my shoulders hunched over. I straightened and glared up at the pit-lord.

“Call it.”

The man blanched. “Victory goes to The Demon.”

The screams of the crowd were deafening, but all that really mattered was that Adrassy was nodding his head.

Soon I’d have the queens on a leash.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two updates in two days, I am a God. As always, please let me know what you think.


	37. Chapter Thirty Seven

ZOYA POV 

2315 Westridge Drive was in a nice, affluent neighborhood. Each house had cute little carved details, a cute little garden, and a colorful paintjob. I used to dream about living in a house like this with Anika and Feyre—I wasn’t sure where I’d factored Nesta or Elain into the equation.

There were families walking down the side of the road, pushing babies in strollers or herding gaggles of children. They were all dressed in well-tailored clothes; merchants and bankers the lot of them, maybe a healer or two. I looked distinctly out of place in my ragged, black fighting clothes, tattoos, and thin build. The looks they gave me were the same looks reserved beggars on the side of the street. If only they knew I could buy the whole damn street out from under them.

I opened the latch of the little iron gate rimming the garden and let myself in. The door was a nice, deep-colored pine with an ornate, brass knocker. The queens obviously paid well.

I knocked sharply.

It was a weekend, he should be here. Even if he wasn’t it shouldn’t be much of a problem. There was a soft thumping of feet and a latch on the other side of the door was undone. “Coming!”

The door swung open—

Adrian Lyman was more attractive than I expected him to be. He had tousled brown hair that he probably tamed before going to work, and for someone who wasn’t a fighter he was in good shape. Still nowhere near as pretty as Rhys. His ass certainly wasn’t nearly as nice.

I gave him a smile and he eyed my appearance suspiciously. “I’m not interested in buying whatever it is you’re selling,” he snapped, forcing an obviously fake smile, “Have a good day.” He tried to close the door. I wedged my foot inside the door.

“Get out of here!” He snapped, giving the door and incessant tug and squeezing my foot.

I smiled pleasantly despite the growing desire to punch him in the face. “My name is Master Zoya Archeron of The Guild. I highly recommend inviting me in for a drink.”

Adrian blanched. He couldn’t re-open the door fast enough, beckoning me in. “May I get you anything to drink? Anything to eat?” He asked, now partially hunched over in a permanent bow. Was this the type of bowing and scraping the queens enjoyed?

“No thank you,” I smiled, looking down at him, “But somewhere to discuss business would be lovely. Your office, perhaps?” He immediately started nodding vigorously in agreement.

“Yes—yes. Very smart, Master Archeron. Please, follow me.” He scurried up a staircase, down a hall and opened up a nice polished oak door to reveal his office. There was a large pine desk, countless books and papers, and a safe in the far corner. There was a healthy, roaring fire in a fine stone fireplace, warming the room. It was standard—more organized than my office had ever been.

Adrian was frantically running his hands through his hair in an effort to tame it as he sat down behind his desk. His big, squishy leather chair was nowhere near as nice as mine. I felt a stupid flare of pride at that observation. I sat back in one of the less comfortable wooden chairs for guests and flung a leg over its arm. Adrian seemed a bit put-off.

Did I care? No.

Would he say anything? No—I could buy his whole family.

I smiled pleasantly at him. “Now, Adrian, may I call you Adrian?” I didn’t wait for a response. “I understand that you are the assistant to Sir Leon McGarry.” Shot in the dark but Adrian nodded in agreement. “So I’ll just get straight to the point, Adrian: I need you to give me Sir Leon McGarry’s office address.”

I smiled, sat back, and watched him stutter frantically. “I’m—I’m—I’m sorry, Master Archeron, but I can’t do that. No one gets to meet Sir McGarry without meeting with me extensively, and then I confer with Sir McGarry, and—”

I held up a hand to shut him up, otherwise he might genuinely have continued rambling forever.

“So that’s a no?”

Adrian nodded excitedly, like he’d just successfully explained a difficult concept to a very small child. “Yes, Master.”

Was there something kinky about being called ‘Master?’

I smiled blandly again. “I thought we might hit that little snag.” I pulled a folded up piece of paper from my breast pocket, sealed with an emerald green wax insignia. Adrassy’s self-made, but distinctive, insignia. Adrian recognized it. I pushed the paper towards him. He looked at it hesitantly before gingerly opening it.

His hand were shaking by the time he finished reading.

“You—” His voice broke, hoarse with fear, “You will have my house burned down with my family inside it?”

I nodded condescendingly the way he had a moment ago—as though he were a very small child that I’d just explained a difficult concept to. “With you on the outside, you know, so that you can hear their screams as they burn alive. Adrassy is more than willing to swallow the cost of this house burning down. And no one will believe you when you say your landlord destroyed his own property. It’ll be a tragic accident—and if you say otherwise no one will believe you because you’re a distraught husband and father who isn’t thinking clearly.”

I gave him another pleasant smile, picked up the piece of paper, and dropped it into the fire. “I trust you are aware that Adrassy does not issue threats lightly, and even if he didn’t issue this threat I have more than enough money at my disposal to buy Westridge Drive and burn the whole damn thing to the ground. So I’ll ask you again,” I leaned forward, pleasant smile still plastered on my face, “Where is Sir McGarry’s office?”

* * *

 

ANIKA POV 

“I don’t care who you are ma’am, we can’t let you see Sir McGarry!”

I let out another pathetic, heaving sob. Tears running down my face, ruining my makeup, my hair artfully tousled to make it look messy but not too messy. My dress’s thin strap hung off my shoulder—scandalous by these proper peoples’ standards. I’d have to strip naked and dance like a middle-aged father to feel remotely embarrassed.

“Please—” I gasped out, pretending to stifle another pathetic sob, “He’ll recognize me. He just said that he would write—” I wailed and the woman behind the desk flinched. “Please just let me see him.”

A pair of shoes approached, and the woman looked distinctly panicked. Excellent. I’d made enough noise.

I let the other strap of my dress fall. The top of the dress to slipped down another inch or two. Sir McGarry threw open the door the secretary was guarding, and I threw myself at him, making sure to push up against him and give him an eyeful. And him being a man—he fell for the bait, wrapping an arm around my waist.

I immediately started breathing heavily, let him watch my chest move and I stuttered out how grateful I was that he had agreed to see me—

That I was honored that such a powerful man, like himself, was willing to see me again—

He waved off his secretary. “Don’t worry Donna, I know this woman.”

Lair—he’d never seen me before today.

I let out a quaking sob and ran a hand through my hair, letting it fall around my face. He was still staring at my chest as he led me into his office. And closed the door behind us.

I fanned myself, walking around his office. Zoya’s was far more disorganized and homey. An office without beanbags and blankets for me was no true office. Sir McGarry was watching my every move. Did he watch the queens like that? I couldn’t imagine that any women liked it.

I let a little more skin show. I gestured to his window, “Do you mind if I open it, sir? I’m a little flustered.”

He gave me an indulgent smile and I looked down, abashed. A cute young girl. Insecure. Defenseless. “Of course. Anything you need.”

I opened the window completely and took a moment to look at the gardens. “You have a beautiful view.”

“I can think of something more beautiful.” I cringed inwardly. Fucking sleezy bastard. Powerful men were usually exceptionally corrupted.

I blushed and fluttered my eyelashes, better to lay it on thick. I pressed up against him. “When I didn’t hear from you after the club—I—I got so worried. You said that you would make it home safe, and I should have believed you. But—But a powerful man like yourself is such a target.” I gently traced an embroidered pattern on his doublet. I hated this—pretending that I found men attractive. He cupped my cheek.

He’d pay for that.

He looked down at my chest—he’d pay for that too.

I just needed a few more minutes.

“I’m a powerful man for a reason,” His hands moved to my shoulders, and down—

I glanced at the window again—the view really was beautiful. But not as beautiful as the woman climbing through it.

* * *

 

ZOYA POV 

Fighting and running were easy. Climbing on the other hand—holy shit. I was out of shape.

I’d meant to come through the window silent. A shadow.

Instead, I collapsed face-first to the ground with a mighty crash.

McGarry wheeled around, took his hands off of Anika, and pulled a knife out of his belt. Anika pulled out her own dagger and pressed it against his neck. “I recommend not moving,” she purred, stormy eyes glinting, “I’m not used to this type of thing, my hand’s a bit shaky.”

She was sexy as all hell—threatening people. That was my girl.

I dusted myself, gathered what was left of my dignity and walked up to McGarry, pulling the knife out of his hand and examining it. “Watered steel. Very nice.” I sat down at his desk and twirled his dagger. Anika pushed him forwards and into one of his chairs for visitors.

There was a knock at the door. “Play nice,” I mouthed, watching the color drain from McGarry’s face. Anika held her dagger firmly against his throat, drawing a little stream of blood.

“Sir,” came a voice, secretary, probably, “Are you all right?”

I looked at him pointedly. He swallowed. “Just fine, Donna. Don’t worry.”

Her footsteps receded. “Good boy,” I mouthed, smiling. Anika smirked a little—she knew I was showing off. “Is this fancy little dagger here a benefit of working for the queens? I imagine that there are a few other perks, but this is the one I’d care about if I were you.”  

I gave his dagger another twirl, admiring the way the steel caught the light.

“I need something from you—the queens.” He stiffened up. “You see…they have their heads up their asses. They’re willing to let us all be obliterated by the faeries—by Hybern and its King, more specifically. I’m here to shift the tide of this war. Now…if my friend here lets you go, do you promise not to try anything stupid?”

“I’m not stupid.”

“Yes, you are.” I looked at him pointedly. “Do you promise?”

He nodded slightly and Anika released him and went to lock the door of the office. I stuck my filthy shoes on his desk.

“Sir McGarry,” I started, “You great great great and so on grandfather died in The War. As did his father. As did his son, leaving behind a newborn daughter who was your many-times great grandmother. Your family has bled for the safety of the human race. Your family helped free us from slavery and misery. You will bleed in the coming months—your family may die too. But whether you die fighting for your lives and rights or in a public execution for Hybern’s amusement is up to you.”

Sir McGarry was shaking his head. “You want us, humans, to fight _with_ the faeries. To _trust_ them.”

“Yes,” I said, nodding. “Because if you do not start trusting someone in this equation; we are all going to die. All of us. And it will not be quick. It will be bloody and painful and ugly. Trust me when I say that I have met the High Lord who is offering you this alliance, and when I say that he is a good, decent male. He will fight to the death against Hybern to protect his family—again.”

Sir McGarry looked up and away from his dagger.

“Lord Rhysand fought alongside your ancestors. Alongside humans. I did a little bit of digging, my friend,” I gestured to Anika, “Did _a lot_ of digging. That male has bled and given up an impossible amount to help us humans. We would have been wiped off the face of the earth without this male’s help. Without his court. Without the trust that we foraged with the fae the last time. We need to forage that trust again—The Wall was never meant to be a permanent solution but now it’s a crutch. We will be killed, brutally, if the queens do not rally. And you are one of the few people who has enough sway and trust with the queens to have them meet, and seriously consider this alliance.”

Sir McGarry looked a little thoughtful—maybe I was getting through his skull. “My sister was killed by Hybern. My sister was dragged into the woods, away from her family, to serve out a life sentence for a crime committed out of self-preservation. I have been shredded and bled out time and time again, and had good men killed by the dark monsters that are preying on us—monsters that will run free with Hybern. If I can find it in me to trust faeries and ally myself with them—you should too. The queens should too—not because they want to, but for their people.”

Anika headed towards the window and sat on the ledge. Our que to leave. “Think on what I’ve said. And it goes without saying that if you tell anyone about this. I will know. I will come after you. And you will regret it.”

I walked over to the window too. Anika scaled down without a second thought, her impeccable balance and hardened muscles made it look easily. I more frantically clawed at the wall while I fell at a slightly controlled pace and landed in a heap.

Anika snorted. “You’re pathetic.”

I groaned and scrambled to my feet. “Thanks, I aim to impress.”

“Can we have lamb tonight?” She asked, sprinting towards the ten-foot wrought iron fence, I struggled to keep up. She cleared the fence in one easy jump and I had to haul myself up. I was built for fighting—not stealth.

“We can have,” I panted, “whatever you want. As long as you slow down.”

* * *

 

ZOYA POV 

The letter came a week later.

_Dear Mistress Archeron,_

_Your proposal to organize a summit between the faeries and the queens has been accepted. Expect to be contacted within the week to organize the summit._

_Best Wishes,_

_Sir Leon McGarry_

_Senior Advisor to the Queen’s Coalition_

_Commander of the Queens’ Armies_

Anika and Darius were smiling. Nesta was coming as close to showing a happy emotion as she was physically capable.

“This calls for a nice dinner,” I spun my chair to look at Anika. “You want to invite Petyr and Mikhail?" She gave me a pointed look.

“Stop playing matchmaker.” I held up my hands in submission.

“Fine. But let’s still have a nice dinner together.”

* * *

 

ANIKA POV 

“They do make a sweet couple.”

I smiled a little. Mikhail and Petyr had been confused when they’d shown up at Borrone’s—my favorite place for a good lamb dinner—expecting a table for about fifteen people and found an intimate reservation for two.

There were a few awkward minutes but they’d both relaxed and started talking.

Petyr’s bruises were bad. One of his eyes was nearly swollen shut.

Rage coiled in my gut. I’d had violent customers in the past, but Adrassy was really pushing the line.

“Are you going to do it tonight?”

Zoya shook her head, yellow eyes flashing. “I thought you might want to.”

I did.

I really did.

“It’s not like you haven’t done it before,” she whispered, watching Mikhail and Petyr split a chocolate dessert. “You have more of a reason to do it than I do.”

I shook my head slowly. “I’ve only ever done it when I was scared, desperate, and living on the streets. As much as I’m furious—as much as I want to—”

Zoya nodded slowly. “So you want me to do it?”

“Yes.”

* * *

 

ZOYA POV 

I shimmied up the drainpipe and crept along the ledge. The large, green-tinted window opened up silently.

I stepped into the room and padded across the carpeted floor. There was a fourposter bed in the middle of the room with a green silk canopy. There was rich silk bedding, matching the canopy.

The room stunk of alcohol. A night at a gambling hall and in The Pits would do that to a person.

Adrassy was in bed—sleeping like a baby.

He beat people. Sent fighters to their deaths in the name of entertainment. Sent fighters to me—death.

I was death.

Petyr’s bruises flashed through my mind. Rotty’s did too. Every prostitute waiting to get into The Palace that had bruises had suffered because of Adrassy.

I crept up onto the bed. Adrassy muttered and shifted in his sleep

I pulled McGarry’s dagger out of my belt. It was a fine weapon.

“Petyr?” Adrassy muttered blearily. “Is that you?”

This was for everyone that had been pushed around by rough clients.

This was for all those times Anika came home from work with bruises.

This was for Petyr—an artist trapped in hell.

I pushed the dagger into his throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm starting school again soon, so my posting is going to slow down, and I'm sorry for that. Please let me know what you think, it really makes my day to hear from y'all.


	38. Chapter Thirty Eight

ZOYA POV 

“What the _fuck_ happened?” I snarled as the front doors of The Palace banged behind me. Darius and Anika were hot on my heels. Nesta had been dragged with us and she wasn’t happy about it.

The bar and gambling hall were barren for once. The Palace was closed today. The Pits were too. But there was a small knot of men at the bar—despicable creatures. Adrassy’s nearest and dearest. I bared my teeth at the men.

Fat cats in their specially tailored suits. Idiots. Incompetents.

“Start talking now,” I ordered. “You idiots knew that Adrassy was a target. You _knew_! You knew that he was a target because he had half of the city in his debt and the other half hated him!”

One of them braced his feet apart. I recognized him—some no-name in The Guild. Lived off of his father’s money. If he’d spent his life drawing with crayons instead of investing he’d have more money than he did now. “We’ll start talking when you start talking.”

I let out a feral growl. “Adrassy _made me_. He helped me own these streets. Why would I ever hurt him?”

There was a muffled sob in the corner of the room. Sitting in a plush, emerald chair was Petyr. He was slumped, a handkerchief with the name “Mikhail” was embroidered into its side. Blood stained his hands—he’d obviously grabbed and shaken Adrassy’s corpse.

“Why is he here?” I snarled, rounding on him. I meant the boy no harm, but Adrassy had been killed in his bed. Everyone was on edge.

The no-name glowered at me. “Because he found the body.”

“He is the only one with access to Adrassy’s room and yet you’re letting him sit here and cry?”

One of the other men—a brothel owner and partial shareholder in The Menagerie clicked his tongue. “Petyr wouldn’t harm someone who was such a good source of income.”

“Did I ask for your opinion, you fucking imbecile?” I growled, rounding on him. He took a few steps back. “Take me to the body.”

They didn’t dare challenge me again.

Adrassy’s bedroom was a bloodbath. I hadn’t waited for him to bleed out before leaving. Bloody hand prints were on the body and the sheets—Petyr, probably. But I hadn’t left a trace. I’d left before the bedding was soaked. “How?” I gasped out, letting my hands tremble and my voice waver.

The no-name grunted. “Someone sliced his throat open. He choked to death on his own blood.”

I shook my head slightly and backed out of the room. “I can’t look at that anymore.”

Anika had followed us up and was now fiddling with the door. “The lock doesn’t seem damaged.” One of the rich men was inspecting the window.

“Neither has the window.”

What on earth did he know about it? He wouldn’t know what forced entry would look like.

I linked my arm with Anika’s. “Let’s head down. I don’t need to be here anymore.” She gave my arm a squeeze which would have looked reassuring to anyone else. It was actually congratulatory.

“Where were you last night?” One of the men asked.

I started heading down the stairs, gripping Anika’s arm to stabilize myself. “We had a celebratory dinner—I’d gotten some good news.”

I gave Darius a nod as we entered the sitting room. He’d gotten Nesta situated in the corner of the room—out of harm’s way if things went wrong. Petyr had also calmed down. Darius probably had something to do with that.

I turned to the herd of wealthy men that were following me around. “We should clear out.” I gestured vaguely at Petyr, “You can leave.”

The men in the room froze. “We can’t leave.”

I glowered at them. “And why the fuck not? My boss—my friend—is lying upstairs in a pool of his own blood. Someone _killed_ him. I think we all need a break.”

The no-name held firm. “The Master of Bank will be here to read Adrassy’s will. We will stay here until that happens—We were named in his will.”

“That’s awfully presumptuous of you,” I sneered.

“We were his friends.”

“Adrassy had a lot of friends.”

Someone knocked at the front door.

I met the pampered men’s eyes. “Get the door.”

They did.

They probably all been at The Pits. I’d dare them to go against me.

We settled ourselves down in the plush green chairs. Anika perched on the arm of my chair and I slid my arm around her waist. She was doing incredibly well—playing the quiet, comforting girlfriend. Nesta was in the chair next to me and she promptly leaned away. She been distancing herself from me since The Pits. Since she watched me kill people with no second thoughts and in the most brutal way possible. She had every right to be disgusted but it didn’t make it hurt any less.

Darius settled behind Anika and I, placing a comforting hand on each of our shoulders.

The men returned with the Master of Bank. The settled into their respective chairs. Nesta glared them into creating a zone of empty chairs around us.

Petyr was pretty much curled up into a ball ad trying to blend into the chair.

The Master settled himself in front of the room and unfurled a scroll of paper—aged and cracked from the bank’s vaults. He went on and on with his condolences and apologies.

I let myself tear up a little.

The Master opened the scrolled and cleared his throat before offering his condolences again and spouting some legal jargon. I knew it well—I’d recently written my own will.

Then came a long list of Adrassy’s assets—he had nothing on me, but it was still an impressive compilation. I resisted a smirk when Westridge Drive was referenced. The men were practically drooling on the carpet at the mention of Adrassy’s fortune—especially the no-name. If he inherited anything from Adrassy it would boost his standing in The Guild. I couldn’t have that.

“It is my will,” the Master read, “that the sole beneficiary of all my fortune, assets, and holdings should be my former deputy, Zoya Archeron, also known as The Demon.”

The men’s heads whipped, eyes bugging. Anika’s jaw dropped. Nesta seemed stunned.

“Bullshit,” Darius blurted.

I just stared at the Master, mouth a bit open, hands falling slack at my sides. “Say that again.”

The Master gave a nervous, watery smile. “Everything—all of it, is left to you.”

Anika said I would like her present—she was not wrong. I couldn’t care less about her not being there during my life or death fight if this was the type of present she pulled out of the air. I needed to make an honest woman out of her.

The men refused to accept this. “Where are the duplicates?” The no-name demanded.

The Master held up a placating hand. “They have been inspected. They are all identical, all dated from three months ago.”

How had Anika managed that?

How?

Better yet—three months ago. I’d been in the north, raising a paid army and an arsenal of ash.

I’d known that Anika would be changing his will—but I’d assumed it would be insurance policy to make sure that there was nothing unpleasant in there. But I’d given Anika complete freedom to sculpt the new will at her pleasure.

And I hadn’t bothered checking it—I trusted her.

“So everything is mine?”

The Master nodded again.

I turned to everyone else, a wolfish grin on my face. “Get the fuck off my property. All of you.”

They couldn’t reach the door fast enough.

* * *

 

ANIKA POV

Petyr was sobbing in an alleyway—the way one does when they feel like their life has spun out of control.

Darius flanked me. Zoya had insisted on dragging Nesta out to dinner—try to force a conversation. It wouldn’t end well. Zoya was an unstoppable force but Nesta was as close to an immovable object as I’d ever seen.

“How are you doing?” I called out, causing him to jump and back away slightly. His face was still bruised from Adrassy’s abuse.

He retreated a few steps. “Leave me alone,” he spat, reminding me of a cornered animal, “Your fucking bitch of a girlfriend accused me in front of everyone—I’ll never work again. I still owe an indenture to Adrassy, Zoya now. How does it feel,” he snarled, bloodshot eyes streaming, “knowing that you’ll be having a dinner one night paid by my blood money?”

Zoya had taught me how to fight a long time ago—I put those skills to use.

I caught Petyr with a right hook and he hit the ground. My knuckles burned and I shook my hand off. How on earth did Zoya stand pummeling people into the dirt the way she did?

Darius flinched slightly in sympathy.

Petyr was sobbing again, not bothering to haul himself out of the filth on the street. Pathetic.

“First off, Zoya accused you because she had to. Secondly,” I thrust out a piece of paper, signed and notarized right after Zoya had sent everyone packing, “read this and see if you’re still intent on being a little bitch.”

Petyr took it with shaking hands, unfolded it, and read it. “She’s paid off my indenture except for fifty coins, which she has given to someone called Erik?” He looked up at me, brow furrowed in confusion. “I can pay this off by servicing the right person once. What’s the point?”

“Erik is the tattoo artist who has done all of Zoya’s tattoos, including her demon.”

Petyr’s eyes were filling with tears for a different reason.

“Zoya has vouched for your drawing ability with him. He’s agreed to take you on as an apprentice. Tomorrow, midday, he expects to see you at his studio, ready to work.”

I left Petyr on the street in a pile. Darius stepped up to him and grabbed him by the collar.

“If you ever—ever in your life—disrespect Zoya Archeron in front of me again I won’t need to kill you. She’ll do it herself.”

* * *

 

ZOYA POV 

“Nesta.”

She didn’t look at me. She’d been pointedly ignoring me for the three courses that we’d had. I could be drinking with Darius and Anika. And thanking Anika for the present—alone.

“Nesta, I’m not sorry that I never told you what I do for a living. I’m not sorry that I did what I did—it had to happen. Those fighters knew the risks of stepping into a ring with me and they accepted them. And we needed Adrassy.”

She fixed her brimstone eyes on me. “So, you mean to tell me, that you killed people for sport, and you don’t regret it at all?”

I shrugged hopelessly.

“Yes.”

“You’re a murderer.”

“Yes.”

“You’re a monster.”

My eyes were burning.

“Yes.”

“You’re not going anywhere near Elain.”

Rage replaced the hurt. “You don’t get to separate me from my twin.”

“You killed people. You crushed someone’s head and laughed after you did it. You don’t get to go anywhere near Elain.”

For once, I might agree with her. I had done every one of those things and more.

Nesta stood up from the table and left the restaurant. Everyone’s eyes followed her.

I didn’t want to be separated from my twin again. But going to war with Nesta was exhausting.

I couldn’t lose another sister—

Nesta was going to pay for tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is pretty short and rushed. Please leave some feedback. This might be my last chapter for a while, college is ramping up and I feel like death :)


	39. Chapter Thirty Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is another short one I'm afraid. The next will be longer, I swear.

ZOYA POV 

It had been a few hours since my dinner with Nesta ended. She was in her room according to Daisy, who had looked white as a sheet when I’d arrived home. Nesta had probably snapped at her. I’d ordered her to take the night off and headed straight up to my room.

There was no Anika. I didn’t bother lighting a candle for some light.

She was probably still tracking down Petyr.

I pulled off my boots and laid back on the bed. Waiting.

A few hours dragged by before I heard the front door open. There was a heavy set of steps—Darius. I strained my ears—there. Feather-light steps. Anika was back.

They talked in the foyer before Darius left in the direction of his room and Anika started towards ours.

I squinted as she opened the door and the light from the hallway streamed in.

“If you’re sulking in the dark like a petulant child I can’t imagine that dinner went well,” Anika remarked, closing the door behind her and pulling off her own shoes before lying down next to me and snuggling into my side. I instinctively wrapped myself around her.

“It went as well as it could have. I didn’t apologize because I’m not sorry and Nesta spewed her usual vitriol, and then said that she would never let me be around Elain again.” Anika snorted softly, winding her legs with mine and burrowing into the covers. Adorable.

It was a fight not to ogle her legs while we were having a serious conversation. I really was no better than a teenage boy.

“I think Elain might have something to say about that. She doesn’t really understand you, but she does love you.”

“There’s a reassuring thought,” I muttered. Anika cracked a stormy eye and snorted.

“Poor baby—so misunderstood.” She traced the line of my jacket—no embroidery for me, just good craftsmanship. My breath hitched a bit as her fingers trailed down my stomach. “What comes next?”

“I have a few things to wrap up here tomorrow. Adrassy left me a considerable fortune and I fully intend to spend it. Speaking of which,” I looked down at her. She was smirking again. “How did you switch out the copies of the will? Those are kept in vaults nowhere near the Archeron family vault.”

“Did you know, that the bank used to be a place of worship before the war?”

I smiled a little. “No, but I’m hardly surprised. You know more than me when it comes to just about everything.” I started carding my hands through her hair. She purred.

“Well, the righteous holy men weren’t fond of the idea that they needed to be chaste,” her hand ran back up my stomach and I nearly choked, “So, they built tunnels under the temple so that they could safely escape for a night of debauchery. Most of these tunnels lead into the holy men’s old rooms or, as we know them, the vaults. It was just a matter of finding a map of the vaults now and map of the temple the place used to be. From there it was easy enough to find a way in.”

“Still doesn’t explain how you got past the locks,” I muttered, trying not to let my mind go completely blank as her fingers started popping open my jacket’s buttons.

“They taught us at The Menagerie, in case someone got stuck behind a locked door with a violent customer. And I got a feel for the locks when I visited Adrassy’s vault.” Anika rolled on top of me so that she was straddling me. “So, did you like your present?”

I blanked. She looked gorgeous—all lithe muscle and cunning. Her stormy eyes glinting.

She was perfect—my equal and better in every sense of the world.

She didn’t balk at me.

She wasn’t scared of me.

She accepted me—loved me.

I didn’t bother with the buttons holding her jacket together—

I ripped it open—

* * *

 

DARIUS POV 

Zoya was walking stiffly at breakfast and into the bank. I’d dismissed it until Anika had come down the stairs looking just as satisfied and bowlegged. Living with these two was hell.

Zoya hadn’t spared any time this morning, simply grabbing me by the collar and loudly proclaiming that we were going on an adventure…to the bank. Why? Why had I allowed myself to become friends with someone who thought banks and math were fun?

The waiting room in the bank’s hall was all gilded braziers, arching doors, and white marble. It was gorgeous. But it was also the type of place that made me feel like if I breathed wrong I’d be flung out of the front doors. Zoya, on the other hand, looked completely at home—with one leg flung over the arm of the fancy leather chair she was sitting in and spinning a dagger in her hand. On of my daggers probably—she stole them nonstop. It wasn’t on purpose, she just had a habit of picking up knives that she saw and tucking them into her belt—it was more a subconscious reflex than anything else. She didn’t realize that she was doing it.

“Why am I here with you again?”

“Because you looked too happy at breakfast. I figured that I’d drag you out on a boring errand,” Zoya looked up from dagger, which she was now using to clean out her nails. Her yellow eyes flashed in amusement.

“What’s going on with Nesta?” That amusement died.

“I was having a nice day until you brought my sister into the conversation.” Zoya started twirling the dagger again. “When I was maybe five, I stole books from my father’s collection so that I could read about interesting and fun things, like tax evasion. And I quickly became enamored with the idea of charitable donations. And then I learned about slavery—I didn’t really understand that it was bad at the time—and I decided that, because Nesta had been mean to me, that I’d give her away as a charitable donation to some slavers and have the fee deducted from the family taxes so that father would have a better chance of paying down the family debt.”

I resisted the urge to smile at the image of a five-year-old Zoya. Her brutal fighting tactics and drinking made it near impossible to picture her as a child. “Why didn’t you?”

“I was informed by a horrified maid that it was illegal, and because of that I wouldn’t be able to deduct Nesta from our taxes as a charitable donation.” Zoya’s yellow eyes were dancing again and she started jigging her leg, earning the glares of a few men in finely tailored suits. Zoya didn’t give a shit but I felt like shrinking into the floor. Fancy places didn’t agree with me.

“You must have been a delight as a child.”

Zoya nodded absently. “I liked hiding in cupboards in the kitchen.” I resisted the urge to snort and draw more unapproving glares.

“Why did you do that?”

Zoya nodded her head at a nicely dressed banker that was approaching us. “Probably because being in a cramped space was the closest thing I would get to a hug until Feyre came along.” She hauled herself out of the chair and met the banker, firmly shaking his hand. They exchanged a few pleasantries and she waved me over as they walked to his office.

I followed hesitantly.

I had to duck to fit through the door into the banker’s office. None of the chairs in the room looked strong enough to support me so I stood behind Zoya’s chair, hands clasped. The banker was eyeing me and turning pale. I rolled my shoulders and he outright blanched.

“So, um, Mistress Archeron—” I winced for the man. Not a good start. Zoya’s usually bouncing knee froze. I didn’t need to see her eyes to know that they had gone hard.

“Master Archeron,” she corrected in a too-soft voice, “I’m a member of The Guild. Get it right.” If there was one thing she never tolerated it was disrespect.

The banker swallowed nervously. “Master Archeron, my apologies, you informed the bank that you would like to transfer all of the late Mister Adrassy’s fortune.” Zoya nodded in agreement and I fought to stop my jaw from dropping. Zoya loved money. Loved making money. For her to give it away—

“Yes, and my orders are as follows…” the banker readied a pencil and Zoya relaxed back into her chair, “Ownership of The Palace, the shares in The Pits, and shares in The Menagerie are to be transferred to Rotty Drake, a fighter and a current bouncer at The Palace.”

My jaw hit the floor.

“Ownership of the other properties which Mister Adrassy owned are to remain in my possession. All of the properties in the red-light district are to be renovated and turned into low-income housing. I have a contract signed and ready to go with a construction company who will oversee everything.” Zoya paused to produce a piece of parchment from her breast pocket and the banker quickly looked it over and nodded.

“Would you like the bank to oversee the payments?”

Zoya nodded. “Yes, I’ll send along instructions. And for the remainder of Adrassy’s fortune and assets I would like them transferred to Darius Reynolds, a former bouncer at The Palace who is currently in my employ.”

Zoya was giving away her money—to me.

My knees went wobbly.

She was giving away the one thing she obsessively sought—to me.

It was a fight to keep breathing and standing as Zoya wrapped up with the banker and withdrew some money from her own account.

* * *

 

ZOYA POV 

After Darius had recovered from his shock and continuous babbling of “thank you” and “what just happened” I sent him home to lie down. He’d turned white as a sheet and I didn’t trust him not to pass out with the next errand.

I found myself weaving through the artist’s district, between the brightly colored houses and murals. There were life-like depictions of people, animals, and plants. But then there were also nonsensical collages of color and shapes that ran rampant in the district as well. I passed a staircase painted like a rainbow and a wall with a jungle cat that looked like it could leap to life. People busked on every corner, music lit up the entre district.

There was an elderly lady selling dried and pressed flowers, a little girl with ribbons in her hair was trying to help. There were painters sitting on window sills and balconies painting the city on one of its few sunny days. Some children were drawing with chalk on the sidewalk and intermittently stopping to sabotage each other’s drawings.  

I passed them all and found myself in a small, narrow alley with jewelry shops lining its sides. Brilliantly colored stones glinted out from each window, twinkling as the sun hit them. There were deep blues, reds, and greens. There were white gems the size of my fist and one or two of a deep, impenetrable black. I came to a stop in front of one of my favorite shops. They’d once had a fire opal necklace which I’d spent months saving for to buy for Anika. I’d eventually gotten it. The only time she didn’t wear it was when she took it off for cleaning or for work, when she had worked. 

I pushed my way through the door, a bell jingling cheerfully to announce my arrival. An old man was sitting behind a desk in the corner of the room, his wispy white hair sticking up in erratic tufts. He didn’t look up as he called out a welcome.

I headed towards the display case with rows and rows of glinting rings with precious stones. I’d never thought that I’d be able to afford one of these…

There were emeralds and rubies glinting up at me. Diamonds that flashed. I dismissed them all for a clear, blue gem. Maybe about the size of my nail. Unlike the others it was sitting on a cushion instead of a ring. I cleared my throat and the old man was there in a heartbeat.

“Which one would you like to look at today, ma’am?” He smiled broadly, a few teeth missing. I pointed at the blue stone. The man’s flyaway brows shot up. “A blue diamond. Rare. Especially in this size and quality. You have good taste.”

A smile tugged at my lips. “I’m sure you say that to all your customers.” The man winked, pulling the diamond out for me to inspect. “Why isn’t this one in a necklace or a ring or some other jewelry piece?” I asked, turning the cushion so that the stone caught the light. A thousand shades of blue glinted back at me.

“If someone is willing to buy a stone as fine as this, they deserve to customize it to their desires.”

I nodded. “I’d like to buy it, and have it set in a ring—white gold.”

The old man quirked a brow. “It’s expensive.”

“Price doesn’t matter—not for this.” He smiled knowingly.

“Any other gems to accompany it?”

“Two white diamonds to flank it—the best you have. And I mean it.” The old man started puttering about, pulling out equipment that I couldn’t make sense of and two more brilliant diamonds.

He smiled up at me. “Is this for a special woman in your life?”

“Yes.”

He stopped his work to scrutinize me. “Tell me young lady, is this an engagement ring?”

A little smile bloomed on my face.

“Yes, it is.”

 


	40. Chapter Forty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did this instead of my three essays due later this week. :)  
> This was thirty minutes of my life with no editing, so i apologize for any errors.

ANIKA POV

She was a monster—the type that hid under children’s beds and swallowed them up whole. Her hands were still bloody and healing from her fight. They were scarred with murder. But I trusted her completely.

She was a storm, all bared teeth and flashing eyes as she laid into Darius. He was frantically avoiding each one of her blows by the smallest of margins. The journey back up north with Nesta had left her tightly wound if her fighting and the bruising on my hips was anything to go by.

Darius, all seven feet of him, _yelped_ as one of Zoya’s fist connected with his side.

I’d been ogling Zoya’s muscular arms and ass staunchly enough not to notice a male figure sneaking up behind me.

Cassian cleared out his throat.

I started and the winged male gave me a feral grin. “You got our message?” He snorted.

“Azriel’s spy was amused to report that Zoya had been screaming into the forest for us to get our fae asses down here.” My mouth twitched upwards.

“You’re not worried about one of us humans seeing you come and go to the house?” Cassian shook his head, smirking. His wings flared a little and I had to fight the urge to gawk. Some small, insignificant, human part of me panicked slightly at the sight. _Different…dangerous,_ whispered my gut.

 _Cool,_ my head responded.

“No one is near any windows. Elain and her fiancé are safely sequestered in the library on the other side of the house,” He said, sharp eyes following every twisting, dancing movement that Zoya and Darius made.

“Can you tell me if he’s doing anything indecent to her? Watching Zoya drag him out of the house by his hair could be fun.” He snorted.

“I take it that you don’t like him?”

“He’s an elitist ass,” I responded, dragging my eyes back to the fight. Zoya was currently straddling Darius in the sand and trying to strangle him. Darius threw her off and landed a strong blow to her stomach.

Cassian chuckled as the two of them devolved into playful tousling. “They’re good,” he noted, running his eyes along Zoya as she easily flipped Darius off of her. I bristled a little as his eyes lingered. Zoya kicked him across the sparring ring. “Very good. Are the two of them close?”

“Yes.” Cassian watched Zoya duck out of the way of one of Darius’s kicks.

He waggled his brows a little. “ _Very_ close?”

I gritted my teeth a little. Zoya was _mine_. “Not as close as you think they are.”

Zoya caught sight of his wings and immediately took a heavy blow to the face. Darius pulled up short and started frantically apologizing. Grabbing her face and examining her.

I wasn’t worried—she was as resilient as a fucking cockroach. Damn near impossible to hurt or kill. What other human was batshit insane enough to go on trips up to The Wall just to kill a few dangerous monsters?

She even had the nerve to refer to those trips as “holidays.”

Insolent little shit.

Cassian grinned as Zoya hauled herself out of the sand and jogged over to Cassian—Darius in tow and still frantically apologizing.

Zoya gave Cassian a bright smile. “Hello bat-boy.”

The boys choked.

“Bat-boy?” Cassian gasped out, managing to sound offended.

Zoya stuck her tongue out. “Bat-boy.”

She was facing the same problem I did around the Illyrians—extreme jealousy over their wings. They were beautiful. There had to be a kink above The Wall about those wings, and if there wasn’t…I was going to introduce one somehow.

…Zoya with wings.

My core tightened.

Oh yes.

I dragged my attention back to the conversation.

“The queens have agreed to meet with us?” My heart melted a little at the spark of hope in his voice. Ancient fea warriors were cute.

Zoya nodded brightly, a feral grin on her face. “They took some persuading—” Darius mouthed the word _some_ in disbelief “—but they have agreed to meet here in a few days. They’re being very—how do I put this lightly— _needy little shits_.”

Cassian’s brows shot up.

Needy little shits indeed. Zoya had spent half of her day yesterday chasing down the house’s blueprint while also trying to sit in meetings with two other merchants on a spice trade route. Darius and I had kept ourselves entertained by betting on how long it would take for Zoya to snap.

“When do they want to meet?”

Zoya pretended to think about the answer. She just liked having wings around to make eyes at. “Ten days, here, and at noon.” Cassian nodded in confirmation.

His wings flared a little as he readied himself to take off, but his eyes were still scanning the property. Zoya smirked wickedly, noticing his hesitation.

I broke in before she could, “No Nesta, I’m afraid.” Cassian’s shoulder’s tensed. I eyed them—Darius was bigger.

Zoya snickered. “Bat-boy, next time tell the pretty one to come down here instead.” He turned, looking slightly offended. At least Zoya had taken his edge off.

“I’m not pretty?”

I clicked my tongue. “You’re sexy—there’s a difference.” Cassian was now eyeing me. Zoya bristled.

“Then which one’s the pretty one? The other two are quite hideous you know,” Cassian teased, grinning.

“ _Rhys_ —” Zoya said slowly, as though she was explaining something to a very slow child, “Send Rhys next time so I have something nice to look at.”

Cassian roared a laugh. His shoulders and wings shaking. “Your sister is very much involved with Rhys you know—mates, in fact.”

Zoya’s jaw dropped.

Mine might have too.

She flung herself at the fae warrior—and managed to bowl him over into the ground before smacking any piece of skin she could reach. “ _MY SISTER FOUND HER MATE AND THAT’S NOT THE FIRST THING YOU MENTION?_ ”

Darius didn’t try to get Zoya off of him. I wouldn’t either—this was fun to watch.

Cassian frantically scrambled out from under Zoya, his hair stuck up in every possible direction. “It didn’t occur to me,” he defended. It wasn’t good enough.

Zoya kicked him in the shin petulantly. “Not good enough. Now get out of here.”

Cassian didn’t hesitate this time when he unfurled his wings. Yes…Zoya would look excellent with a pair of those.

“Oh, and Cassian,” Zoya said, smoothing out her clothes.

Cassian froze, bracing himself. He could definitely beat her in a fight, but this was less a fight and more a scolding.

“If Feyre really loves me she’ll share him.”

Cassian’s eyes popped out of his head.

ZOYA POV

“I cannot believe that was not the first thing he said. He didn’t tell me that my little sister had found her mate! Didn’t think to mention it until I said that Rhys was pretty! I’m gonna rip him apart when I see him next.”

Anika rolled her eyes, slipping into an oversized shirt to sleep in. “You’ve been giving me this exact same rant for three days now. Relax.”

I pouted until Anika slid under the blankets with me. “He didn’t tell me that _my sister_ found her mate!”

Anika pulled herself out of bed and grabbed a blanket. “I’m sleeping with Darius if you don’t stop.”

I stopped.

She came back and snuggled into my side.

“Are you scared…about what’s going to happen when this all goes to hell?” I whispered, tangling my legs with hers the same way we always did.

Anika shook her head and little and breathed me in. “No. I’ve got you and I’ve got Darius and I’ve got a veritable army of men armed with ash sitting on the front doorstep.” There were a few beats of silence as I dozed.

“Do you trust me for what’s about to happen? Do you trust me in a war?”

ANIKA POV

 _Do I trust her?_ Obviously.

I’d trusted her from the day I met her—a fighting legend on the rise. An impossibly brutal opponent who tripped over her words when I smiled at her.

She’d respected every single boundary I’d set and respected the first few months when I’d wanted nothing more than stress relief. No strings attached.

That ‘no strings part’ had gone to hell very fast.

I’d thrown it out when I realized that I wanted what she made me feel—happiness—something damn near impossible to find in the red-light district. Especially for a dancer.

A chuckled rasped out of me.

“I trust you.”

“Even when I’m out of my depth?” The larger-than-life fighter whispered. A tremor in her voice. This—this is the side that no one got to see. Gentle. Scared.

“Even then.”

My hands slid under and over her: one flattening against her stomach and tugging her hard warmth against me, the other sliding under her ribs and arms to band around her chest.

Zoya traced a finger along my thigh. I gritted my teeth.

“Your hands are cold.”

Zoya smirked a bit. “Like that’s the only reason you’ve tensed.”

I splayed my and across her stomach as the finger continued tracing its path, higher—

I purred and Zoya arched beneath me. Going taut and loose all at once.

Her hand started to make idle, lazy strokes as she ground against me.

More, I almost begged. My hand traveled down the slope of her chest, admiring the firm, adamant muscle. The other hand continued its idle stroking along her stomach, and slowly—so slowly—to the low band of her oversized soft pants. I nipped at her neck.

Zoya _whined_.

The Demon indeed. The best fighter Amre had ever seen. The queen of merchants. Putty in my hands.

She cried out just a little, arching fully against me. I fought a moan as she pressed herself into me. This girl would be the death of me.

Her hand founds its way under my shirt. Skin to skin. The callouses and scars on her hands making me groan as they scraped my breast. She ground into me again, eliciting a soft, wicked hiss.

I slid my finger along the band of her pants and Zoya whimpered again. I smiled against her neck. Zoya’s hand had an iron-clad grip on my thigh as she whined and begged.

If anyone but me knew The Demon was submissive—

“Anika,” she panted out, pupils blown wide, “if we were fae…do you think you’d be my mate?” I froze a little.

 _Yes, yes, yes, yes—there was no one else. No one else._ And I told her so.

 “You’d look incredible with wings, you know,” I purred into her neck, hand at last trailing beneath her pants.

I snarled in satisfaction at the wetness I found waiting for me.

DARIUS POV

I could hear the bed moving.

I’d come up here to pass on the newest letter from the queens, but now I wasn’t going to do that. Nope. Not going near that door.

Anna was giggling next to me, a pretty blush on her cheeks. “We should leave them to it, yes?”

I found myself agreeing instantly. “Yes, let’s go get a drink to try and forget what we just heard.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, please let me know what you think.


	41. Chapter 41

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, a chapter before the weekend.

ZOYA POV

“Tighter.”

“It doesn’t go any tighter.”

“That’s quitter talk,” Anika said, clutching her side and pushing the corset in. “Try again.” I pulled again and it cinched closer. Anika let out a soft hiss.

“Too tight?”

“Nope. Tie me in.” I tied her in and she exhaled in relief.

“That was a nightmare”

“That was _your_ idea,” I muttered, trying not to focus too much on Anika and more on the upcoming meeting. I’d be useless if I met the queens horny out of my mind. “You don’t need to dress up for anyone.”

She rolled her eyes and started pulling on her dress. Even I could admit it was a work of art and I hadn’t touched dresses since my mother had stuffed me into one. It was all sleek silk and studded in what was probably my weight in gems. A few of them were Adrassy’s old emeralds. His hand hadn’t done them any justice, but Anika’s ass was certainly up to the task.

She fastened the back of the dress and turned to me. “We need to do something about your hair.”

I blinked. “No.”

She cocked her head slightly and stared putting in her many earrings. “I think you misunderstand. We _need_ to do something about your hair.” She fixed a few flyaway strands of her curls, tucking them back into the artfully braided coil she’d spent half an hour making and swearing at. “You’re going to meet the queens—the most powerful people on this side of The Wall—and you’re just leaving your hair down and doing nothing to it.”

She had a point. “But I don’t want to,” I whined, “I’ve already done my makeup—”

Anika gave me a pointed look.

“Alright, fine. _You’ve_ already done my makeup. I look fine. And it’s so much effort to organize my hair.”

She rolled her eyes again and started rifling through the closet and pulled out my newly tailored suit. It was all harsh black with sharp lines and tailored edges. It looked incredible, but the real kicker were the earrings I’d ordered along with it—brilliant yellow diamonds the size of a nail and framed with gold. Over the top, even for me.

“Why don’t you just cut all your hair off, then?” She muttered, flinging the suit at me and letting me flail trying to catch it.

“Bet.”

She froze and turned to me slowly. “Really?”

I thought about it.

“Yeah, why not?”

“You’ll either look really sexy or like an egg.”

* * *

 

ANIKA POV

Zoya looked _really_ sexy.

Thankfully.

I’d always gone weak at the knees when she wore suits. But her short hair was something else. I wouldn’t be able to focus at the meeting. I cut her hair and now all I wanted to do was sit and stare at her and maybe a few highly inappropriate things.

Her sisters would be scandalized, no doubt.

We’d barely had time to get Zoya into her suit at run down the stairs where everyone was already waiting for us.

Nesta and Elain’s jaws dropped. Darius grinned madly and let out a bark of laughter. Anna looked torn between the two reactions.

No sign of our fae friends yet.

It kind of looked like Rhys’s haircut now that I was thinking about it…

Shorter on the sides, longer on the top. I’d done a good job of it.

Zoya swaggered up to Darius and winked. “You like?”

He snorted and wrapped a massive arm around her. “We match.” She lit up immediately, a huge grin plastering itself on her face.

“You’re my fashion inspiration.”

He snorted.

“Shut up.”

Nesta was looking at Zoya with her classic _are you fucking kidding me_ look. I knew it well. “You look like a man.”

Zoya’s eyes flashed. “Do I look like I give a fuck?”

Elain seemed a little more hesitant to insult her twin. “It’s…different.”

“That’s typically what happens when you take shears to hair,” Zoya said matter-of-factly. Darius and Anna clamped their lips closed.

I didn’t bother suppressing my snort.

We were saved by the doorbell. Anna ran for it. I usually forgot that she was technically a servant, she seemed more like a casual friend than anything else.

Rhys froze a bit at the sight of a non-Archeron opening the door, but to her credit Anna did not bat an eye at the line of fae that shuffled in through the door. She did gawk a bit at the wings and I agreed with the sentiment—it wasn’t fair that they got to fly.

Our fae friends were joined by a new addition this time—a beautiful female with blonde hair and brilliant eyes. She was in a red gown cut to reveal her skin.

The Archeron sisters were a beautiful bunch, maybe I was biased, but this female was on a different level.

My eyes found Zoya’s.

_If we ever get the chance we will have a threesome with her._

Zoya smirked. _Agreed_.

She really looked incredible with her new haircut. It made her cheekbones look sharper is it was possible and somehow highlighted the unnatural yellow of her eyes. She’d always been more predator than person, now she just reflected it on the outside a little more.

Feyre and the fae males balked a little at her hair. Zoya cackled. “You like?”

Feyre ran a hand through Zoya’s hair, gently ruffling it to give it a more rugged look. “I like,” she confirmed, smiling from ear to ear.

“Good because Anika and I decided that I’d either look good or like an egg, so I’m glad it came out like this.” Rhys and Cassian snorted. The female and Azriel’s lips quirked.

Zoya, bless her, caught on to where my attention was and turned to the female. “And you are?” Her grin was positively predatory—I was sure mine was too. The female answered with a grin of her own.

I didn’t miss the way her eyes flicked over Zoya—taking in the sharp eyes and hard edges. Leashed lightning.

My girl was dangerous.

I knew that look.

“Morrigan,” she said with a brilliant smile. Zoya extended a hand and she took it. “I’m Rhys’s cousin. Call me Mor.”

My heart stuttered in my chest—Morrigan. The Morrigan. Morrigan from The War—a female fae warrior who’s gift was truth. She was so much more than a pretty face.

Zoya smirked again, all predator. “So it runs in the family then?” She turned to Rhys and glared at him accusingly. “You had me thinking you were the best looking one of the bunch.”

I didn’t miss Mor’s eyes flicking over Zoya again.

Could she be—

My thought was caught of by Elain saying something about the meeting being soon and we all shuffled into the room where we’d be receiving the queens. I ended up step in step between Cassian and Darius. Two sides of the same coin.

The talons on the edge of Cassian’s wings looked like they had been honed and the thrumming gems dotting his armor glowed. Some weird fae shit no doubt. 

Feyre and Zoya were hand in hand towards the front of the group, whispering to each other.

Rhys walked a little off to the side with Azriel.

Nesta and Elain huddled near Anna.

We made a fine group. Dressed in finery fit for kings and queens.

Elain’s dress was studded with gems. Nesta’s dress was sleek and shimmered with each step. Zoya in a suit tailored like a second skin. I was dressed in gems that must have been worth hundreds of thousands of gold coins.

We looked _expensive_.

So did Feyre and her friends.

Feyre wore a white gown of chiffon and silk, cut to reveal her skin, the gold accents on the dress glittering in the midmorning light.

Rhys was clad in his usual black.

Despite the ease surrounding Zoya, her shoulders completely loose, she still seemed taut somehow. All of us were.

Feyre seemed to pick up on it and did nothing to try to induce conversation between Mor and the rest of us. I would welcome a conversation but now was not the time.

Cassian and Azriel were monitoring everything. Not a weapon in sight. But the gems they were studded in gleamed.

The clock struck time.

They’d wanted the exact geographical location of the house. The layout and size of each room. Where the furniture was. Where the windows and door were. What room, likely, we would greet them in.

Zoya had provided it all.

And I realized, as it finished its last strike, that the third demand wasn’t just for security.

No, as a wind brushed through the room, and five figures appeared, flanked by two guards apiece. The queens stepped out of shadows and thin air.

What. The. Fuck.

The eldest of them, clad in an embroidered wool dress of deepest blue, was brown-skinned, her eyes sharp and cold, and unbent despite the heavy wrinkles carved into her face. She was the one who’s statue Zoya had stuck a dick hat on top of.

The two who appeared middle-aged were opposites: one dark, one light; one sweet-faced, one hewn from granite; one smiling and one frowning. They even wore gowns of black and white—and seemed to move in question and answer to each other. I wondered what their kingdoms were like, what relations they had. If the matching silver rings they each wore bound them in other ways.

A little vein of jealousy ran through me. Marriage—

I wanted it, but the chances of it happening were slim to none.

And the youngest two queens … One was perhaps a few years older than me, black-haired and black-eyed, careful cunning oozing from every pore as she surveyed us.

And the final queen, the one who spoke first, was the most beautiful—the only beautiful one of them. These were women who, despite their finery, did not care if they were young or old, fat or thin, short or tall. Those things were secondary; those things were a sleight of hand.

But this one, this beautiful queen, perhaps no older than thirty …

Her riotously curly hair was as golden as mine, her eyes of purest amber. Even her brown, freckled skin seemed dusted with gold. Her body was supple where she’d probably learned men found it distracting, lithe where it showed grace. She was beautiful—not my type though.

My type was a compact yellow-eyed fighter with an impressive amount of suppressed rage.

“Well met,” Rhysand said, remaining still as their stone-faced guards scanned us, the room. As the queens now took our measure.

The sitting room was enormous enough that one nod from the golden queen had the guards peeling off to hold positions by the walls, the doors.

Rhys stepped forward. The queens all sucked in a little breath, as if bracing themselves. Their guards casually, perhaps foolishly, rested a hand on the hilt of their broadswords—so large and clunky in their size and armor. It would take Zoya, a human, a few heartbeats to snap their necks. No more. No less. They would not stand a chance against Rhys and his unnatural grace.

But Rhys bowed his head slightly and said to the assembled queens, “We are grateful you accepted our invitation.” He lifted a brow. “Where is the sixth?”

The ancient queen, her blue gown heavy and rich, merely said, “She is unwell, and could not make the journey.” She surveyed Feyre. “You are the emissary.”

Feyre stiffened. “Yes,” she said, “I am Feyre.”

A cutting glance toward Rhysand. “And you are the High Lord who wrote us such an interesting letter after your first few were dispatched.”

I may or may not have read a few of those letters and delivered them. Zoya had written a few of them—all with very choice words.

“I am,” Rhysand said with a hint of a nod. “And this is my cousin, Morrigan.”

Mor stalked toward us, her crimson gown floating on a phantom wind. The golden queen sized her up with each step, each breath. A threat—for beauty and power and dominance. Mor bowed at Feyre’s side. “It has been a long time since I met with a mortal queen.”

The black-clad queen placed a moon-white hand on her lower bodice. “Morrigan—the Morrigan from the War.”

They all paused as if in surprise. And a bit of awe and fear.

The same feeling I’d had when  first heard her name and put two and two together.

Mor bowed again. “Please—sit.” She gestured to the chairs we’d laid out a comfortable distance from each other, all far enough apart that the guards could flank their queens as they saw fit.

Almost as one, the queens sat. Their guards, however, remained at their posts around the room.

The golden-haired queen smoothed her voluminous skirts and said, “I assume those are our hosts.” A cutting look at Zoya and her sisters. She barely spared a glance for Darius and I. Anna had magically disappeared somehow.

Zoya swaggered forwards, hands stuffed into her pockets and a half-smile on her face. “Feyre’s sisters,” she clarified, running a calculating eye over the queens and their guards. No doubt measuring them up. Calculating how far she would get if she got into a fight with them. It wasn’t in her nature to think of anything else.

Nesta had gone straight-backed, but Elain bobbed a curtsy, flushing rose pink.

Amber eyes slid over her again. “You are Master Archeron of the Guild.” A fact, not a question. “The one who slaughtered men and women in fighting pits to get our attention.”

Feyre’s breathing struggled to stay even. The other faes’ faces betrayed none of their shock. My mind unwittingly flashed back to the description Darius had given me of the fight—Zoya crushing a man’s skull with her bare hands while he begged for his life.

It might have been my imagination by Rhys’s eyes widened a fraction more.

“You threatened to burn one of our worker’s families alive and then broke into the office of one our trusted advisors.” All facts.

Zoya grinned easily and let a little of the predator show. “I got your attention, didn’t I?”

The queen turned her focus back to Feyre. To her crown. Then Rhys’s. “An emissary wears a golden crown. Is that a tradition in Prythian?”

“No,” Rhysand said smoothly, “but she certainly looks good enough in one that I can’t resist.”

The golden queen didn’t smile as she mused, “A human turned into a High Fae … and who is now standing beside a High Lord at the place of honor. Interesting.”

The eldest declared to Rhys, “You have an hour of our time. Make it count.”

“How is it that you can winnow?” Mor asked from her seat beside me.

The golden queen now gave a smile—a small, mocking one—and replied, “It is our secret, and our gift from your kind.”

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.  

“We know war is coming,” the oldest said, her voice like crackling leaves. “We have been preparing for it for many years.”

Bullshit.

Feyre said as clearly as she could, “The humans in this territory seem unaware of the larger threat. We’ve seen no signs of preparation.” True.

“This territory,” the golden one explained coolly, “is a slip of land compared to the vastness of the continent. It is not in our interests to defend it. It would be a waste of resources.”

Made sense—didn’t mean I didn’t want to kill her for it though.

Rhys drawled, “Surely the loss of even one innocent life would be abhorrent.”

The eldest queen folded her withered hands in her lap. “Yes. To lose one life is always a horror. But war is war. If we must sacrifice this tiny territory to save the majority, then we shall do it.”

I watched Zoya grow taut. It was easy enough to guess that she was fantasizing of splattering the queens on the pretty marble floors.

 “There are good people here,” Feyre tried again.

The golden queen sweetly parried with, “Then let the High Fae of Prythian defend them.”

Silence.

And it was Nesta who hissed from behind us, “We have servants here. With families. There are children in these lands. And you mean to leave us all in the hands of the Fae?”

The eldest one’s face softened. “It is no easy choice, girl—”

“It is the choice of cowards,” Nesta snapped.

Feyre interrupted before Nesta could dig us a deeper grave, “For all that your kind hate ours … You’d leave the Fae to defend your people?”

“Shouldn’t they?” the golden one asked, sending that cascade of curls sliding over a shoulder as she angled her head to the side. “Shouldn’t they defend against a threat of their own making?” A snort. “Should Fae blood not be spilled for their crimes over the years?”

“Neither side is innocent,” Rhys countered calmly. “But we might protect those who are. Together.”

“Oh?” said the eldest, her wrinkles seeming to harden, deepen. “The High Lord of the Night Court asks us to join with him, save lives with him. To fight for peace. And what of the lives you have taken during your long, hideous existence? What of the High Lord who walks with darkness in his wake, and shatters minds as he sees fit?” A crow’s laugh. “We have heard of you, even on the continent, Rhysand. We have heard what the Night Court does, what you do to your enemies. Peace? For a male who melts minds and tortures for sport, I did not think you knew the word.”

Feyre tried again, “If you will not send forces here to defend your people, then the artifact we requested—”

 “Our half of the Book, child,” the crone cut Feyre off, “does not leave our sacred palace. It has not left those white walls since the day it was gifted as part of the Treaty. It will never leave those walls, not while we stand against the terrors in the North.”

Some dumb little part of me was giddy at the idea of a book.

And so Feyre pleaded—told her story and laid bare the ugly consequences of the queens’ negligence. “Please,” she begged, “Please, give us the other half of the Book.”

The eldest queen swapped a glance with the golden one before saying gently, placatingly, “You are young, child. You have much to learn about the ways of the world—”

“Do not,” Zoya snarled, shoulders flexing enough to make the guards brace and pale, “condescend to her.”

The queens paled in turn too. One of the guards muttered “Demon.”

The eldest stiffened. “For the greater good—”

“Many atrocities,” Rhys purred, breaking in, “have been done in the name of the greater good.”

No small part of me was impressed that she held his gaze. She said simply, “The Book will remain with us. We will weather this storm—”

“That’s enough,” Mor interrupted.

She got to her feet.

And Mor looked each and every one of those queens in the eye as she said, “I am the Morrigan. You know me. What I am. You know that my gift is truth. So you will hear my words now, and know them as truth—as your ancestors once did.”

Not a word.

I wasn’t entirely sure what it meant, but it sounded impressive.

Morrigan gestured behind herself to Feyre. “Do you think it is any simple coincidence that a human has been made immortal again, at the very moment when our old enemy resurfaces? I fought side by side with Miryam in the War, fought beside her as Jurian’s ambition and bloodlust drove him mad, and drove them apart. Drove him to torture Clythia to death, then battle Amarantha until his own.” She took a sharp breath and blazed on.  “I marched back into the Black Land with Miryam to free the slaves left in that burning sand, the slavery she had herself escaped. The slaves Miryam had promised to return to free. I marched with her—my friend. Along with Prince Drakon’s legion. Miryam was my friend, as Feyre is now. And your ancestors, those queens who signed that Treaty … They were my friends, too. And when I look at you … ” She bared her teeth. “I see nothing of those women in you. When I look at you, I know that your ancestors would be ashamed.

“You laugh at the idea of peace? That we can have it between our peoples?” Mor’s voice cracked. “There is an island in a forgotten, stormy part of the sea. A vast, lush island, shielded from time and spying eyes. And on that island, Miryam and Drakon still live. With their children. With both of their peoples. Fae and human and those in between. Side by side. For five hundred years, they have prospered on that island, letting the world believe them dead—”

“Mor,” Rhys said—a quiet reprimand.

A secret. That had to have been a secret.

The golden queen and ancient queen looked to each other again.

The ancient one’s eyes were bright as she declared, “Give us proof. If you are not the High Lord that rumor claims, give us one shred of proof that you are as you say—a male of peace.”

I had no idea how we would do this. But Feyre tensed so I had to assume there was something—

Rhys rose in a fluid motion, the queens mirroring him. “Your desire proof?”  He shrugged, the silver thread in his jacket catching the sunlight. “I shall get it for you. Await my word, and return when we summon you.”

“We are summoned by no one, human or faerie,” the golden queen simpered.

Perhaps that was why they’d taken so long to reply. To play some power game.

It hadn’t worked, not really, not with Zoya pulling strings.

“Then come at your leisure,” Rhys said, with enough of a bite that the queens’ guards stepped forward. Cassian only grinned at them—and the wisest among them instantly paled.

Zoya grinned manically and two of the queens seemed to fight the urge to take a step back.

Rhys barely inclined his head as he added, “Perhaps then you’ll comprehend how vital the Book is to both our efforts.”

“We will consider it once we have your proof.” The ancient one nearly spat the word. Some part of me reminded myself that she was old, and royal, and smacking that sneer off her face would not be in our best interests. “That book has been ours to protect for five hundred years. We will not hand it over without due consideration.”

The guards flanked them—as if the words had been some predetermined signal. The golden queen smirked at Feyre, and said, “Good luck.”

She shot Zoya one last look.

Then they were gone. The sitting room was suddenly too big, too quiet.

And it was Elain—Elain—who sighed and murmured, “I hope they all burn in hell.”

I barked a laugh.

Zoya was less amused, slamming a leg into one of the huge mahogany tables and sending it flying across the room.

Even the fae blinked as she sent the table sailing with no apparent difficulty.

She let loose a deep growl, shoulders tensed. “I’ll make them fucking heel,” she spat, pacing. Even Feyre seemed taken aback at her temper. “And if they won’t protect the north I will. Cowardly bitches.”

Zoya turned—not to me, not to Darius, not to Feyre. To Nesta. And she found her same boiling rage reflected back at her.

I could see Zoya’s grudge melting away.

“What do you say, sister mine? Shall we get to work?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always feedback is always welcomed. Thank you for sticking with this story :)


	42. Chapter 42

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I live. Life's been insane, so I'm sorry for not updating. This is a short chapter just to get the ball rolling on this again.

ZOYA POV 

“You can’t collapse an entire country’s economy because you’re mad at the ruler.”

“I’m only collapsing part of a few cities’ economy,” I corrected. “I’ll hire anyone effected by the crash. No one is going to lose their jobs over their queens being petty little bitches.”

Nesta glowered at me. “You are hurting their livelihoods.”

I braced my arms on my desk and leaned forwards. Let Nesta’s eyes take in my scarred shoulder, curtesy of High Lord Tool’s talons when I’d first met him. I’d spent weeks fantasizing about turning him into a pretty golden rug, and after hearing about what he’d done to Feyre that fantasy was reviving itself. I’d been bleeding for this war for months now. “I will not hurt their livelihoods. I will be providing higher paying jobs and more benefits than the dock masters. No one should work a full-time job and not have the money for basic living necessities. I’m only shorting the sugar market, not the whole damn economy. Besides, it’ll ruin a lot of the queens’ prospects.”

Nesta curled her upper lip at me. “You may be powerful, but you’re not that good.”

A snarl ripped out of me. My older sister and I had been burning ever since meeting the queens, unfortunately, all that anger was starting to get directed at each other. Being locked in a room and brainstorming how to ruin peoples’ lives wasn’t exactly conducive to a great sibling bond.

“Don’t fucking tell me what I’m capable of,” I growled. Nesta shifted back in her chair—away from me. My fist slammed onto my desk’s surface. The wood groaned.  

Nesta flinched.

“You are going to hurt people when you go on this war path,” Nesta hissed. I sneered.

“I think they’ll prefer a few hours of panic between losing their job and getting hired by me as opposed to watching their families ripped to shreds and enslaved by fae. If I don’t stand a chance against the fae no one else does.”

My sister’s back was ramrod straight as she glared down at me. I hated being short sometimes. “You are not the end-all-be-all of the human race. You aren’t the best we have to offer.”

I didn’t have time to rebuttal her before she plunged on.

“You’ve always been like this—running head-first into danger like an idiot with notions of grandeur in your head. You tried to fight when they came for father and that got you a broken rib and nothing else,” Nesta sneered. “You couldn’t do anything.” She may as well have stabbed me with a rusty dagger and it would have hurt less. “You threw a knife at Tamlin, the beast, when he came for Feyre, and then you cried on the floor for a few hours and did nothing else.”

“I went after Feyre!” I roared, snapping. Nesta flinched back in her chair. My desk groaned as I gripped its edge in a vain effort to stabilize myself. “I ran after her to The Wall! I went when all you were willing to do was nothing! So, don’t fucking preach at me you heinous bitch.”

Nesta stood up, towering over me. She looked so like mother—curled upper lip and disdainful set to her brows. “You came back with a hole in your side and nothing else. Now you send other people up to The Wall to die for you—those boys rarely come back.”

I few faces flashed through my head—my boys. The two of them I’d killed. Gilan, begging in the snow for me to help him right before I’d plunged a dagger through his head and put him down like a horse with a broken leg. Gendry—killed to get a message to my little sister. Killed for a bargain with a monster which had left me with one tattoo I wasn’t proud of.

Nesta kept twisting the knife— “You will hurt people! You aren’t good enough to pull something like this off. If your track record is anything to go by, you’ll hurt everyone and end up dead! You’re useless. You have no control of yourself when you’re emotional.”

My fist came down on my desk again—and went straight through it. Nesta flinched and took a step back as the wood splintered and gave. My hand burned, but I paid it no mind. I was vaguely aware of the blood pouring out of my hand staining the carpet Anika and Elain had picked out—they’d insisted on adding color to my office.

“You can’t stop me,” I growled lowly. “I’m going to bleed the queens dry and make their people hate them. They will yield to me.”

“You’re not thinking clearly.”

“Of course I’m not!” I roared, ignoring a hesitant knock at the door. “They’re holding people captive! They’re leaving us here like pigs for slaughter!”

The knock came again.

“They deserve to be fucking gutted and strung up by their innards, and if no one else will do it, I will ensure that it happens!”

There was another knock.

Nesta’s face had blanched and her hands were clenched at her sides—knuckles turning white. “Get the fucking door,” I ordered.

It didn’t even occur to her to refuse, she simply turned on her heel and wound through the stacks of paper littering my floor. Those stacks had been growing the last few days, filled to the brim with math and calculations of the queens’ assets. I’d be hitting them where it hurt and thankfully more than a few of them were dumb enough to invest a massive chunk of their money into one thing—sugar.

Nesta opened the door to reveal Anna and Darius. He had his massive frame place firmly between the hell inside this room and Anna’s small frame. She was peeking out behind one of his arms.

“Is everything okay?” Darius asked, eyes scanning the room and me—noting the blood that was streaming out of my hand and into the carpet. Noting the splintered hole in my desk.

“Yes,” I answered for us. Anna and Darius seemed to relax. Nesta snorted derisively but stopped when I shot her a furious glare. I turned to Anna, who was no longer shrinking behind Darius’s bulk. “Get me a passage to the mainland, I don’t care where, with another ticket for Anika.” I grabbed on of my finer black jackets and wrapped it around my bleeding hand. “And order me a new desk please—not ironwood. If I ever mad enough to punch it again I don’t want to break every bone in my arm.”

“Yes Zoya,” Anna said, nodding easily. She was becoming less and less phased by my antics. “Do you want me to get a new carpet too?”

The carpet was thoroughly ruined—a large stain had already worked itself into an otherwise mellow design of cream patterns and swirls. “Yes please,” I said, “see if you can get an exact copy from the same store, I liked the design—it was calming.”

Darius quirked a brow and snorted. “Not calming enough,” he snorted, eyeing my ruined desk. I flicked his chest.

“Shut up.”

ANIKA POV

Gorgeous—that was the only was to describe the mainland. We’d passed towering white chalk cliffs and rolling fields of lush green and wild flowers. The sea sparkled a million different colors. I’d never seen water this blue. The sea and port by Amre were a perpetual muddy grey.

Zoya looked more relaxed too. Her hand was still swollen after putting her fist through a few inches of polished mahogany, but nothing seemed broken.

I wound an arm around her waist and pulled her into my side. She melted into me without hesitation. I still preened a bit at that—one of the best pit fighters in history and now one of the richest people in the world was wrapped around my little finger.

She looked up at me and grinned slightly—the type of smile that would have sent a chill down a school teacher’s spine. My girl had always looked like trouble. Her eyes usually seemed a harsh, predatory yellow—hawk’s eyes—but they seemed softer now.

She bit her lower lip. “I can’t wait to see you tonight.” My stomach tightened at the reminder. I appreciated Zoya adding some levity to the situation, but it didn’t ease the weight of what was about to happen and what could go wrong.

I scoffed and rolled my eyes. “You are a perverted child.”

She shrugged. Unconcerned. “Maybe.”

ZOYA POV 

Anika looked stunning. Tight leather was an iconic look for anyone, but the way is made her ass look was enough to make me believe in a higher power. The effect of the look was somewhat diminished by the fact that she was about to climb about seventy feet off the ground and sink a few of the most powerful humans into debt deep enough to ruin their lives and economies.

The queens were stupid—they put too much of their money in sugar. And they put too much of their sugar in one place with too few guards. They also didn’t keep a close enough eye on me—not that they or any of their spies would want to while I was preoccupied on a nice cruise with my lady love.

I pulled my black jacket tighter around me and fingered the black box that had been sitting in its pocket for a while now. I could still picture the blue diamond ring that was sitting in it—but I didn’t want to see it again until I worked up the courage to ask Anika. I didn’t think she’d say no, but I had been wrong in the past.

Anika pulled her hair into a severe bun and pulled a long black coat around herself. She patted one of the pockets to check for a vial I’d commissioned a week or two ago—it was filled with an acid strong enough to burn through just about anything and it had cost a fortune. Anika offered her arm to me. “Are you ready?”

I linked my arm with hers and felt my stomach twist.

“Yes,” I lied.

The walk to the warehouse district was a quiet one. There were people running around the streets, dressed up for a day off or returning from a long day of work. The sky was littered with stars. Anika seemed perfectly relaxed, her arms swinging at her sides as she smiled at the children on the street who stopped to stare at us.

I couldn’t stop my chest from twisting.

We came to a stop in front of the iron gates guarding the edges of the warehouse difference. Anika climbed it with ease while I frantically scrambled over—trying to keep up.

It was easy enough to spot the sugar silos to the south—they towered over everything. Seventy to eighty feet tall each they dwarfed the surrounding landscape. They had guards whose uniforms were emblazoned with various queens’ crests patrolling their base—maybe ten total. I rolled out my shoulders and clenched my hands.

My right hand was still sore and swollen from punching through my desk. It’d be fine.

I didn’t have the hard job tonight anyway.

My stomach and chest had tied themselves in knots as Anika rubbed my back. “Good luck,” she whispered, dropping back as I approached the guards, all of whom were now watching me.

I waved broadly and plastered on a huge, fake smile.

“Hi gents,” I called out as they started towards me. “Do you have any idea where myself and my lady friend could find a good pub?”

They all came in closer—big mistake.

One with a bushy beard and a boyish face glared at me and got in a little too close.

My arm snapped out of its own accord and connected with his jaw.

By the time he hit the ground four of the other guards were on me.

DARIUS POV

“I don’t feel comfortable doing this.”

Nesta glowered down at me from the carriage window—the exact same set to her jaw that Zoya got when she was going to willfully and knowingly do something that she shouldn’t. “As far as Zoya knows we’re just going to go look at flower arrangements for Elain’s wedding.”

I nodded in agreement. “That’s what makes me uncomfortable.”

Nesta rolled her eyes. “Zoya has decided to exclude me from the planning progress since our argument, so I’ve been doing my own work.” She fixed her burning gaze on me. “Get in,” she ordered.

I clambered in. If there was one thing I’d learnt after years with Zoya, it was that if an Archeron was dead-set on doing something, they would do it—with or without help and supervision. The least I could do was make sure that Nesta wouldn’t get herself killed.

I scooted into the seat next to Nesta and tried to take up as little space as possible. Anna smiled at me from across the carriage—evidently she’d been roped into this too.

I tried to ignore the knot my stomach immediately tied itself into at her smile.

ZOYA POV 

Every guard was unconscious at my feet or dead. In the past I’d have had some restraint regarding killing the guards, but I was more on edge than I’d anticipated.

Something about Anika possibly plunging to her death was upsetting me—

She walked up beside me, stepping between the puddles of blood and other bodily fluids. Elegant as ever. Her hand found mine and she gave it a gentle squeeze. “That was bad,” she whispered, looking at the men. “Very bad.”

I blinked. “Did they scream a lot?” I hadn’t noticed.

Anika shook her head, blue eyes glinting in the dark. “It was quiet—just messy.” She took off her coat and handed it to me, and rolled out her slight shoulders.

“Was I—was I bad?” I asked, hesitating and carefully folding up her jacket. Anika shook her head.

“No…just…different.” Anika sighed and shook out her hands. “I’ve never seen you out of control like that—or at least its been a long time since I’ve seen you like that, but it’s never happened outside of The Pits.”

My stomach twisted. The ring in my pocket felt like dead weight. Would she even want me?

“You’re under stress. You’re fighting for every human who’s going to be slaughtered by the fae. You’re fighting for your family and friends. You’re going up against the queens all while amassing some of the most world-shattering wealth that’s ever been seen. And you’re about to crash an economy.”

I swallowed hard and watched Anika focus on readying herself for the climb.

“Is there an end to it, Zoya? Is there an end to your amassing wealth or fighting anyone who stands in your way? Do you have some end goal that you’re working towards? Is it ever going to be enough?”

Anika didn’t wait for an answer. She simply patted her pocket that had a vial worth a million or so in gold pieces tucked safely into it before she started scaling the first silo. There were seven silos, hundreds of tons of sugar, and billions invested here. None of that mattered if Anika fell off one of those silos—but she’d volunteered to do this and I’d never stopped to question it.

“Wait!” I yelled up. Anika glanced over her shoulder, she was maybe fifteen feet off the ground. “You don’t need to do this!”

She shook her head. “I want to do this for you. Wait down here for me.”

I washed her vanish up the side of the silo and then I started to clean up the bodies.

For the first time the possibility that she might say “no” to me and the ring flashed through my head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, feedback is welcomed. Please let me know what you think. :)


	43. Chapter 43

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whipped this out as fast as possible with no editing because my life was a mess already.

ANIKA POV 

The view of the mainland from the ship had been magnificent. The view of the city from the top of the silo rivaled it. The city was a massive, sprawling thing, rather like Amre, except it had narrower streets and less of a rancid smell to it. I didn’t remember its name, but Zoya had definitely mentioned it at some point.

I flipped open the hatch at the top of the silo and hauled the wrought iron door open, and in it—

White. Pure white fine-grained sugar. This was the good stuff—it was already refined. I took a cautionary step backwards. Falling in wouldn’t be a good idea. Drowning in sugar would be far from a fun way to go despite my sweet tooth arguing that drowning in sugar was the only good way to go.

I unstopped the vial and poured in some of the solution. It started working immediately—the sugar seemed to implode down and in on itself, leaving behind empty space and a sticky black residue that no one would try mixing into their morning tea. I shut the hatch and scaled back down the silo.

Zoya was grappling with a few of the guards’ bodies—dragging them towards the sea and docks. I didn’t know what to do with her at this point—she was pushed herself and the limits around her constantly. No amount of money or ash weapons or trained fighters at her beck and call ever seemed to satisfy her. I left her to her dirty work and started up the next silo.

DARIUS POV

Nesta was trying to get herself killed. That I was sure of.

“I don’t like this.”

“As you’ve seen fit to constantly remind us,” snapped Nesta, not even bothering to look at me anymore as she fit her hair into an elegant knot on the top of her head. Anna was adding a few finishing touches on Nesta’s makeup and sliding a few shiny, expensive baubles into her hair. “It’s quite simple so see if you can understand—I am going to meet with Sir Leon McGarry, the same way Zoya did, and see if the two of us cannot come to an arrangement. I don’t need you two to do anything apart from stay out of my way when I’m speaking to him.”

She had a less drastic approach to getting the Queens to cooperate than her younger sister, but it didn’t mean I was happy with what was happening. With Zoya I could at least be certain that she could take care of herself, Nesta had no survival or fighting instincts to speak of.

Anna was shaking her head at me and urging me not to broach the topic for what was possibly the hundredth time.

I heaved a sigh. “At least let me come into the meeting with you.” Nesta cast me a disdainful look as Anna finished with her hair.

“What would I need you there for? You’re here to provide some protection in the city, but McGarry will hardly be inflicting any harm upon me.”

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes and simply leave her on her own. She was Zoya’s sister—and that counter for more than she realized. I’d have left her to rot months ago if she hadn’t been fortunate enough to have that familial connection.

“It might be useful to have an intimidating, large fighter standing behind you to drive whatever points you make home. And while you may trust that he will behave in a civilized manner, I do not. I do not trust that man in the slightest.” McGarry may be considered a man of honor by rich people in fancy clothes due to his survival at court and success in skirmishes, but it was worth asking what that man had done to stay alive and succeed where thousands had failed.

Nesta and Anna considered me.

“Fine,” Nesta conceded. “But you don’t get to talk or get in my way.”

That was fine by me, all too often those where Zoya’s exact terms whenever she was heading in for a fight. At least this way I could provide some level of protection for her.

ZOYA POV

Anika landed on the ground for the last time with ease. No doubt her muscles and hands were on fire, but that couldn’t be helped and she certainly didn’t show it. Anika padded up to where I was sitting in one of the guard’s chairs and took a seat in one across from me, stretching out her legs. The bodies were gone but not the blood splattered on the floor, again, that couldn’t be helped. I hadn’t exactly brought cleaning supplies along with me.

I sent Anika a small smile. “How do you feel? You just crashed an economy.”

She kicked me.

“It was your idea. If law enforcement comes after us—” I rolled my eyes and she kicked me again “—and they _will_ come after us, I will just plead ignorance.”

I barked a laugh. “What are you going to say? ‘Oh, I’m sorry, officer I had no idea what I was doing climbing up all those silos, dumping a mystery fluid in the sugar and watching all the sugar go bye-bye, and then doing that like ten more times.’” Anika snorted and kicked me again.

“I was thinking more along the lines of me saying something along the lines of, ‘Oh I’m so sorry officer I had _no_ idea,” and then my breasts just magically fall out of my shirt.”

It was my turn to kick her. “Hey! I thought that only we got access to those.”

“I didn’t say I’d let them fondle me.” She smiled, massaging out her wrists and hands. “That’s still just yours, and mine.” She sent a playful wink my way which knocked the breath out of me.

“Your breasts are just so fantastic that you’ll be acquitted of charges for tanking an entire economy for just showing them to one officer?” Anika smirked again and rose her brows in question. “Yeah, you’re right,” I acquiesced immediately. “They really just are that good.”

She threw her head back and laughed. Still, after all this time that sound got me drunk faster than any alcohol. Something told me her laugh and smile would never lose their effect on me. The thought jogged me, and the little box with a blue diamond ring came to the forefront of my mind again.

I stopped smiling. Anika cocked her head at me quizzically.

“What’s wrong?” She asked. “You know that anyone this hurts is going to be on your payroll in the next few hours and that you’ll be getting an audience with at least a few of the Queens, and that you’ll be able to get the ball rolling on our side of preparation for the war again.” Anika leaned forward and gave my leg and reassuring touch that I couldn’t stop myself from leaning into. She was still here for me.

I shook my head. “That’s not what’s wrong.”

“Then what is?” She asked softly. “Talk to me.”

My chest and throat burned, and blinked hard. “Did…did you mean what you said earlier about how you didn’t know where the end was for me? Where I would stop hunting down _more_ in my life? More money and more power.”

Her shoulders went lax and she sighed. “Zoya…”

There was a pause that stretched on for an eternity.

“Yes. I meant it. I don’t know where this ends for you and I don’t know if you’ll ever have enough because all your life has been hunting after more, more, more.” She rested her head in her hands and rubbed her temples. The burning in my throat increased tenfold. “I just…I just don’t know if you’ll ever be satisfied or happy, and I don’t know how sustainable that is for you, and I don’t know where it ends so t makes me wonder if I’m going to spend my life with someone who is never going to be happy or at home with me, because that’s all I really want. I want the two of us happy, and together, and graying. And I don’t care if that’s us poor and living a ditch, or us with a hundred houses and more wealth than the rest of the world put together. I just care that we’re both happy and satisfied, and I don’t…I don’t know if that’s possible for you.”

I’d long given up on holding back tears. Anika picked her head up out of her hands, and there were tears streaming down her face as well.

“I love you very much, Zoya. But I have to wonder where you’re headed. I have to wonder if you have a destination in mind, because if you don’t, I don’t know if I can spend the rest of my life with you if you’re constantly reaching for an end goal which may not exist. Because, eventually, it’s going to eat away at you, and I don’t know if I could withstand waking up next to a shadow of you every day, instead of waking up next to you.”

Anika’s head found its way back into her hands. I bit back a sob.

“Then let me assuage your fears.” Anika’s watery blue eyes fixed on me. “I have an end goal, and it’s you. It’s always been you,” I whispered. Anika was crying in earnest now. “My family matters to me, mostly Feyre, if I’m being honest, but once this war is over, they’re taken care of. I’m not amassing these resources for fun or my own fulfillment, I’m doing it to ensure the protection of those I love, and once this is over and once we’re safe, I could set my money and houses of fire. Sure, I enjoy climbing the financial food chain, but it’s not my end goal. My end goal is you and me, and a few good friends, and maybe a good fight every now and then.”

Anika’s hands found mine and gave them a reassuring squeeze.

“You are my end goal. This war is going to turn our lives into a living hell, but none of this inevitable suffering matters to me as long as at the end of this I’m waking up next to you every morning. You are worth it. And I love you, so much. So next time you wonder why I’m hunting down more wealth and resources, know that it is for you, and for my family.” I drew a shaky breath, and intertwined my fingers with hers. “You are my end in life.” My voice broke. “You are what I want. I want to wake up next to you every morning for the rest of my life until we’re old, and grey, and wrinkled. I want a gold wedding band on each of our hands, and maybe a kid or two if it ever becomes possible for us to adopt.”

Anika picked her head up out of her hands, and wiped her face clean with shaky hands. “I love you, and I will love you until my last second in this world,” she whispered. “And I hope to spend every day of my life waking up next to you.”

“Me too.”

She pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead. “We should get out of here, before there’s absolutely no room for doubting the fact that we’re the ones responsible for this.”

I wiped my face clean of my tears and drew a shaky, broken breath. “Yeah, do you want to go get dinner somewhere after we get cleaned up? There’s a place near the main street that’s supposed to have an amazing lamb rack.”

“My favorite.”

I cracked a watery smile. “I know.”

The ring box in my packet felt less like a dead weight and more like a promise for a bright future.

DARIUS POV 

“I don’t like this,” I muttered.

Anna gave my arm a reassuring rub. “It’ll be alright. It’s just going to be a conversation and you’ll be there now to make sure that nothing happens.” I resisted the urge to preen at her touch. There were unfortunately more pressing matters at hand than my incessant need for her approval.

“I’m not happy about it.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, we _know_.”

I scowled, muscles bunching involuntarily. “You need to ask yourself what he did to get his position. Despite him being born into a family that has historically had this position, it does not mean that he didn’t earn it, it just means that he learned the costs of earning the position earlier in life. He is in a position that requires him to be ruthless, and a ‘Sir’ before his name does not mean that he is an honorable killer, if there is such a thing.”

“Well,” Anna sighed, “I guess we’ll find out soon enough. Look after her. I know she drives you up the wall. But her heart is generally in the right place.”

I looked down at her and she smiled imploringly up at me. I tried to ignore the way my breath insisted on catching when I noticed the way her flyaway hairs tangled themselves or how the light caught her eyes. “Don’t try and pretend you haven’t wanted to bitch-slap her at least once.”

She snorted. “At least once? Try every hour.”

Nesta swept down the stairs and Anna immediately clamped her lips shut. I smothered a smile. Nesta didn’t spare a glance for us as she swept out the door and I hurried after her, whispering a rushed goodbye to Anika.

The carriage ride was awkward, especially since it was always a chore to fit my bulk into a normal-sized space. Nesta pointedly ignored me and I tried to ignore the crick that was rapidly forming in my neck from having to keep my head stooped to accommodate the carriage’s roof.

We found ourselves outside of an imposing, white marble building. Nesta instructed the driver to wait for us, and she marched out of the carriage and through the front doors of the building, past the uniformed guards, like she owned the place. I scrambled out past her.

Thankfully, these old imposing buildings had high, arching doorways and high ceilings. I rubbed the back of my neck as Nesta lead me up a staircase and through a wrought iron door. We found ourselves inside a small waiting room with a young blonde woman sitting behind a desk. A secretary.

The lady barely had time to open her mouth before Nesta breezed right by her with me in tow and through another wrought iron door, and into a spacious office with an older guy sitting behind a massive desk. I assumed he was McGarry.

I closed the door behind us in the secretary’s face, muffling her protests. Nesta invited herself to sit down in a chair before McGarry could open his mouth.

He sat back in his chair and examined her with a critical eye. “And who might you be?”

Nesta’s back was ramrod straight and her gaze was steely as she answered, “My name is Nesta Archeron, and I have business with you.”

“Then make an appointment with my secretary and come back later. Wait your turn like everyone else. Your relation to Master Archeron does not excuse you from the rules of society.” He rolled his shoulders out with a casual grace that implied a lifetime of hard use. “Leave, and come back another day.”

Nesta’s eyes narrowed. “No. I have something to say, and you will hear me out.” 

He examined her, and glanced at me, before leaning back in his chair. “Very well. Speak.”

“Millions will be killed if you do not convince the Queens to act now. There are people, with families, with children living on our island. There are millions of innocents who need and deserve help on the basis of their humanity. They cannot defend themselves. But you, and the Queens, have the ability to protect them, and therefore the obligation to do so. These are human lives that you are throwing away with your inability to act. How can you not feel the weight of this action and choice? It is the coward’s way out to leave this island to the mercy of the fae, of our former enslavers.”

McGarry had gone very still. “Are you calling me a coward?”

Nesta, damn her, answered. “Yes. You are a coward for backing down and allowing human lives to be tossed away with as little care as an old pair of boots. You do not deserve your position if you bow to the whims of a race of monsters who view and use us as chattel. They want us dead and killing each other for sport. They want us as easy labor, not as individuals. They will wipe us out and abuse us for sport because they view us as lesser. And by refusing to defend human lives against them, you are as guilty of the fae’s actions as any one of them. You are guilty of every life lost, whether by death or enslavement.”

McGarry’s stillness, somewhere during the duration of Nesta’s speech, had stopped reminding me of an animal in the path of a moving carriage, and more of a predator waiting to pounce. “Are you calling me sympathetic to the fae?”

Nesta, the idiot, answered again. “Yes, because you are if you continue to sit idly by and allow the lives of millions to be lost to a fate that can, and will be in many cases, worse than death. You are guilty by association.”

He sat back in his chair, no longer the relaxed man he’d been when we’d marched through his door. His hands had curled themselves into fists and his knuckles had gone white. Warning bells went off in my head and I took a few steps forward, towards the back of Nesta’s chair. Nesta, unfortunately, had no such survival instincts.

“You, and the Queens,” Nesta sneered, “are Hybern’s whores if you continue acting as you have been.”

I didn’t even know she knew that word.

I barely had time to draw breath before a dagger had materialized in McGarry’s hand. Nesta didn’t even seem to register that fact that he was lunging for her—a lifetime of doing nothing but sitting on her hands was about to get her killed.

It cost me nothing to reach out and snap McGarry’s arm with my hand. The dagger clattered to the floor. Lightning fast and instinctively my other hand wrapped around his neck and squeezed. His neck gave out without a fight. He was a weak, older man. Pathetic, but vicious.

I had enough sense left to clamp one of my hands over Nesta’s mouth, smothering her surprised scream. It took her a minute to stop trying to thrash and throw herself backwards.

“Are you in control of yourself yet?” I hissed as she gradually stopped thrashing.

Slowly, hesitantly, she nodded. I let go and Nesta slumped forward in her chair, and promptly heaved onto the floor. She didn’t have the same stomach for violence that Zoya did.

I looked over the scene, and opened one of the windows before grabbing McGarry’s own dagger and thrusting it through his neck, earning a disgusted noise from Nesta. I glanced around his office again and spotted a door to his bathroom, inside there were cloths and towels which I grabbed by the armful.

I scrubbed up Nesta’ mess in record time before sending the towels and cloths down a garbage chute.

Hopefully, an opened window and a knife in the neck would be enough to generate concern about an assassination attempt instead of a hurried killing by us. We didn’t need to be out of the question, but there needed to be reasonable doubt about our guilt. At least without Nesta’s sick all over the floor they couldn’t pin us of even being here at the same time that it happened.

“Pull yourself together,” I commanded. “We need to get out of here before anyone puts two and two together and accuses us of this.”

Nesta gradually straightened herself out, and I offered her an arm to pull herself up by. “Now,” I whispered. “Put on a brave face and let me do the speaking from here on out.”

“Why did you save me?” Nesta rasped out, already standing on her own but pointedly refusing to look at McGarry’s body.

“Because you’re Zoya’s sister, which makes you family.” I hesitated a moment. “And because Anna asked me to.”

I took her hand in mine and lead her out of McGarry’s office, his secretary furiously looked up at us. “I should hope you mean to apologize.”

I forced a smile and did the slightest of bows. “My apologies, my lady here was merely desperate to see him after they met last night.” The secretary snorted derisively as she examined Nesta, who was still pale and somewhat hanging off of my arm.

“Tell your lady that she, no matter how lovesick, must go through the appropriate channels to meet with him.”

I put on a sad face and whispered, “I doubt they will be seeing much of each other anymore.”

“Oh yes,” the secretary responded, rolling her eyes. “A true tragedy.”

I cleared out my throat awkwardly, grateful that Nesta was, for once, keeping her mouth shut. “Yes. Sir McGarry asked me to inform you that he would like to be left alone for a while.”

She nodded. “Of course, I expect dealing with _your lady_ , was more than enough for him to deal with today.”

I nodded sincerely. “Have a nice day.”

She sighed, pleasantries taking over. “You as well.”

I led a barely-standing Nesta out of the building and all but stuffed her back into the carriage. This girl needed to develop a better stomach for violence, I had no doubt the next few months or years would be filled with it.

ZOYA POV 

I usually didn’t like lamb, but I had to admit that the lamb rack here was delicious. I sat back in my chair and watched Anika inhale her second plate of it.

“Hungry, are we?”

She didn’t bother responding with words, merely kicking me in the shin. As she looked up from her food she froze, and kicked me in the shin again, harder.

I scowled. “What?”

She thrust her chin towards the door of the restaurant. I looked over. There were uniformed guards, all bearing sigils on their uniforms which marked them as members of the Queens’ service. I grabbed a napkin and wiped my mouth clean.

“Make sure that my plans fall through for everyone to be taken onto my payroll and that the soup kitchens are opened tomorrow, bright and early. And make sure that everyone knows it is me who is responsible, it is critical that they do.”

Anika nodded wordlessly, and planted a kiss firmly on my lips. We’d planned this, and at least we’d gotten a decent dinner in before I was hauled away.

I left the table and Anika with enough money to foot the bill ten times over and headed over to the guards. “Evening gents,” they all swiveled and a few of them were foolish enough to grab their weapons, as if they’d stand a chance against me. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

One of them was brave enough to step forwards. “Yes. We’re here for you.”

I feigned shock. “Me?”

He stepped forward and grabbed my wrists, cuffing them. “Zoya Archeron, you are being held under suspicion of crashing the economy and treason. You are to be held in their majesties’ custody until trial.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, let me know what you think, I love hearing from y'all.


	44. Chapter 44

ZOYA POV 

I didn’t know how long I’d been locked in this damn box. Dark, damp brick surrounded every side and the wrought iron door stayed shut except for what I assumed was once a day, when a small tray of rotting food was pushed in. I never touched it. I hadn’t eaten well most of my life and still didn’t most days, so the lack of food wasn’t a massive bother. What would drive me insane first was the lack of water. I’d had one cup in all the time I’d been here. It had come in with the first tray and I’d been too stupid to realize that it would be the first and last of its kind.

My lips were chapped. My brain was on fire. I was covered in my own filth and the dirt that was in the cell when I’d arrived. Heavy, rusted cuffs weighted down my wrists and ankles. Chain connected these cuffs to the floor—I couldn’t move without them making a horrific gratin noise against the stone floor. My circumstances were reduced. Here, I was only “Master” Archeron in name, not in power. Here I was more beast than animal, closer to The Demon than a creature with higher thought processes.

It was a slow death.

Fine. It was all fine. I was dealing with it. But time was running out.

I was stuck in one place in this jail cell but Hybern was certainly open to move freely. The Queens wouldn’t do anything. Feyre and her court would fall on the swords of Hybern, dying to defend the rest of us. My other two sisters, pathetic fighters and survivors that they were, would die after the wall of hired men and swords that had been guarding our home for months now were slaughtered. Darius and Anna…he’d protect her but he couldn’t take down an entire army. They’d die too. Anika—I should have sent her away to the mainland when I had the chance. I should have gotten her a little farther from Hybern’s grasp. A little safer, if such a thing was possible.

I couldn’t let any of this happen. Couldn’t rot and waste away in a cell until I was another shadow out of the red-light district of Amre. I was more than that.

As if in answer to my thoughts, the lock of the wrought iron door rattled and came undone. The hair on the back of my neck stood up—it wasn’t time for my tray of rotting food.

A man threw open the door. He was dressed like all of the other guards with one exception—he had stars pinned into the collar of his coat and tassels hanging from his uniform’s shoulders. I’d only ever seen guards in that uniform when serious offences were committed in the nicer parts Amre—he was a commanding officer. He grabbed the cuffs shackling me to the floor and unlocked them before gripping my arm and dragging me across the floor and out of the cell.

I blinked a few times. It had been a while since I’d seen light.

There was a circle of guards gathered around to gawk at me. The guard who had my arm in a vice grim sent them a glare. “Back to your work.”

A few scuttled away and few hesitated. One of them stepped forward, he had a nice face, young and freckled and open. He probably made girls swoon. “Sir, all due respect, she’s dangerous and a pit fighter—a good one. We should be there as back up.”

My guard sneered at him, somehow managing to violently remind me of Nesta and mother. “I can handle her. Besides, none of you rank high enough to present yourselves before the Queens.” My guard took a step forward and his underlings scuttled backwards. “Know. Your. Place,” he hissed through gritted teeth.

They hurried off.

The guard didn’t wait for me to gather myself before dragging me down the corridor. He was on the older side with lines emanating from his eyes and his jowls were starting to droop. All of the above considered he was, however, still built and spry. He moved smoothly, and certainly better than me. Sitting chained to the floor for days wasn’t conducive to being able to walk. I hobbled at his side as fast as I could.

“What’s the hurry?” I drawled, ignoring the way my muscles twinged and spasmed with each step. “The Queens don’t do much but sit on their asses all day, I doubt they’ll realize you’re making them wait a few moments.” The guard tensed, but kept powering onwards and ignoring me. “I supposed there’s always the chances that the old one might just die though. She looks about ready to keel over, don’t you think?”

The guard’s teeth gritted. “I have been instructed not to break your teeth before your audience with the Queens, but I have no reservations about doing it afterwards.”

Teeth were the least of my concerns, my imminent beheading for treason without a trial was more concerning. He gripped me even tighter if it was possible and led me through the shining building and halls. I barely had time to complain before he pushed me into an enclave and up against a wall, holding me in place with a vice grip on each of my arms.

“Mr. Guard, if I’d known you’d felt this way about me before—” I trailed off. “Our love is forbidden but it is strong.”

He slammed me into the wall, jarring me. My head snapped back and cracked against the polished white marble. I let out an involuntary groan and my eyes watered.

“Ok, I can do rough sex,” I garbled out, my head was still trying to remember how to work. The guard let out an infuriated growl.

“Shut up and listen,” he commanded.

“Domineering—I like that in a man. Actually, no, I don’t like men. Sorry.” He slapped me.

“Listen,” he hissed. “I handle the Queen’s mail—carry it and post it for them.”

I blinked blearily, eyes watering. “I’m…happy for you?”

“No, you don’t understand.”

“I think I understand the concept of mail relatively well; you see, I’ve used it more than once.”

He gave me another hard shake. “Try and take this seriously, you imbecile. Your friends at the Night Court are not the only fae the Queens have been in contact with.”

My head cleared immediately, and my heart sped up.

My guard glanced around and continued in a hurried voice. “They have been speaking to Hybern. I don’t know much about you and your family, and if they’re all like you I don’t want to know them. But, I know that you and your Night Court do not want humans in shackles again.” He broke off and blinked rapidly a few times. “I have a family,” his voice cracked. “Two beautiful little girls, not that you care, and these Queens want them to grow up in a world ruled by fae where they will be used. They are blinded by their need for power. These Queens are not what their predecessors were—they are weak and vile.”

Everything clicked into place—the Queens wanted to work with Hybern. They weren’t coy and whiny about meeting with the Night Court because they disliked fae, they didn’t want to meet with us because Hybern had gotten there first, and with the Cauldron they had more to offer.

“Why would I not care about your girls’ lives? Human lives?” I questioned, breathless at the information he’d just deposited in my lap.

The guard’s upper lip curled in disdain. “I know who you are, _Demon_ , and what you do to people. You’ve killed and fought for a living. You splattered one man’s brains out across a floor because of some stupid match fight. You disgust me. You’re more monster than human,” He hissed. I believed him—believed that he hated me.

“I am not the monster you think I am,” I murmured, and we stood awkwardly for a moment. “Are there any Queens who I can work with? Any of them who do not want to work with Hybern or are not working with Hybern?” I whispered frantically, searching my guard’s face. He nodded slowly.

“The golden queen—she still cares for her people and she is sympathetic to your cause. She wants to work with the Night Court to stop Hybern but her actions are hindered by the other Queens.” A spark of hope—that was what she was. Everything relied on her. Everything. Maybe we didn’t need all of the Queens to get the book—just one. One with some level of basic decency and balls—she needed balls, preferably ones about the size of watermelons.

“Thank you,” I breathed.

He scowled at me. “Do not thank me, I just want my family safe. Besides, you’ll probably be dead in an hour, so I don’t know if this is even going to pay off.”

I smirked. “I’ll come through this. The Queens may want my head on a spike but it won’t happen—not when I’m giving jobs to almost half the city after the economy crashed and not when there are soup kitchens all over the continent at port cities to support workers who lost their wages in the economic crash with my name stuck on them.”

He shook his head. “They don’t care about their people and they don’t care that you are supporting their people.”

“No, you don’t get it.” I smiled. “The Queens may be powerful, but they cannot oppose every single person in their city. I promise you that there will be an uprising if I am sentenced to a beheading because if I am gone, so is every bit of help and employment that I am offering.”

My guard cocked his head and considered me. “You might just be right about that. You are a savior to most people after the crash, and the threat of losing you is more than enough to swing the public in your favor.” I heaved a sigh through his nose. “This has taken too long already.” His grip on my arm tightened once more and he continued hauling me through the polished halls to the Queens—to Hybern.

He led me through a series of polished wooden doors before we reached a final door, higher and grander than the others with guards flanking it. He squeezed my arm again, but this time it seemed less like a vice grip to subdue me and more like a send-off—he was wishing me luck.

The guards opened the doors and he shoved me forwards and through them—and into a throne room.

A diamond and glass chandelier hung from the ornately carved marble ceiling, casting dappled bright light dancing up the walls. There were guards in black uniforms lining the perimeter of the room and lined up behind the Queens in immaculate rows. I swallowed and forced myself to look down to the thrones where the Queens were sitting.

There were six thrones and five queens.

The thrones were uniform in appearance—rich, carved redwood. The Queens, however, showed no unity in their appearance whatsoever. The eldest queen sat in the middle, her sharp, cold eyes scanning me and my sorry state from head-to-toe. Flanking her right side were the dark and light queens with the matching bands adorning their fingers. The cunning black-haired queen also scrutinized me, whilst the golden queen seemed almost bored by my existence.

They all stared down at me, waiting for me to bow. I would do no such thing.

Thundering steps sounded behind me and one of the black-clothed guards grabbed me by the neck. He threw me down onto the pristine marble floor. Pain splintered up my face, I’d had more than enough head injuries today. My stiffened muscles were not up to the challenge of slowing or buffering my fall, or counteracting it. I looked no better than a ragdoll.

“That is how you greet your Queens, filth,” hissed the guard.

I beat down the urge to reach up to see if my muscles remembered how to snap a neck. I peeled my cheek from the floor and rose. I’d left an imprint of grit on the marble floor. I shook myself off and met the Queens’ gazes.

After a long moment the eldest Queen spoke. “Zoya Archeron, you are accused of treason and crashing the economy. How do you plead?”

“Not guilty.” I felt a wave of relief as my voice held, clear and articulate. “And it is ‘Master Archeron.’ Regardless of what I and wrongfully accused of, I am a Master of the Guild.”

The dark haired and golden queens blinked at me and resized their opinions of me. It may have been my imagination but a flicker of respect made its way through the lion eyes of the golden queen. The eldest queen merely looked exasperated.

“Very well then, _Master_ Archeron do you have any feasible explanation for how our guards were wiped off the map by our silos and how all the sugar silos are now filled with a black tar?”

“Yes,” I said. All of the Queens seemed to balk at that.

“Really?” Asked the golden queen, leaning forward. “Enlighten us.”

I heaved a deep breath. “Anyone with money and resources could have capitalized on what I am sure was piss-poor security.” The Queens and guards seemed to balk. “It costs barely anything to hire a fighter or and acrobat to pass through your security and into your silos. It would cost comparatively little to pay off guards as well.”

“Resources which you have,” the cunning black-haired queen countered. “You are, as of our latest evaluation, one of the richest humans alive. As you said, it would cost comparatively little to afford a fighter or an acrobat. The guards would not have taken bribes either, they are loyal, a statement affirmed by the blood at the base of the silos.” I really should have brought cleaning products along with me, but there was no time for regret now.

“Additionally,” started the eldest queen, “you seem to have employed anyone who lost their jobs due to this economic crash, and there are soup kitchens with your name plastered on them popping up everywhere. You mean to tell me that this is a happy accident, not intended to swing public opinion in your favor in the event that you should be brought to trial?”

My brows shot up and I feigned complete shock. “I was not aware that I had employed those who lost their jobs, I assure you that this is a coincidence. You see, I have been working for the better part of the last few months to develop a new spice trade route with approximately fifteen to twenty other merchants and we are all in need of talented dock workers and silo workers.” I spread my hands helplessly. “You may check my books against records of calls for workers in docks and silo workers and you will find that I do not lie when I say that this is a happy coincidence. Granted, I am benefitting from the losses of many, but this is not intentional.”

The Queens shifted. The two united opposites looked at each other with a glance that conveyed as much as any hour-long conversation. The eldest queen seemed enraged more than anything else whilst the younger queens—the cunning black-haired one and the golden one seemed somewhat placated.

“Happy coincidence? Billions have gone up in the flames overnight and hundreds of thousands of people have lost their jobs.” Hissed the eldest queen, infuriated. I resisted the urge to march up to her and rip out her throat. She didn’t give a damn about the money, she only cared about her money and sugar for her evening tea and sweets. I might be justifying myself to her, but more than anything else I wanted her dead for working with Hybern.

I shrugged, seemingly uncaringly. “I am a merchant before I am a human,” I lied.

“And how do you explain the soup kitchens?” Asked the golden queen. “We have heard your explanation of one damming action of yours, what about the other?”

I readied myself for another blatantly false explanation. “You all know of my origins,” I started, meeting each queen’s eyes. “I have spent the majority of my life starving in a ditch—I set up soup kitchens because, frankly, the world needs more of them. I know what it is to feel yourself starving to death and wasting away and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.”

The golden queen’s eyes danced. “You do this and you expect us to believe that you are a merchant before you are a human?”

“The public’s good opinion is an invaluable currency,” I smiled. “And I intend to spend it.”

“And how do you intend to spend it?” Asked the black-haired queen, examining me with a critical eye once again.

I put on a pleasant smile. “Leveraging you.”

“Oh?” She asked, cocking her head to the side.

“You see, none of you will dare make a move against me, because if you do the vast majority of your population will be in uproar,” I smiled sweetly at her. “Hundreds of thousands are working on my docks and in my silos, and even more are being fed out of my soup kitchens and while this is the perfect storm for me, it is a living nightmare for you. Because as much as all of you hate me and my family for our insolence in asking you to help us save humans from fae rule, you cannot fight off all of your subjects—you’ll never win. Never mind that I can buy a bigger army than all of you have combined, I am, after all, one of the richest humans in the world.”

There were a few terrible beats of silence. The queens seemed to shrink in their thrones and the guards shifted.

“None of this acquits you of charges,” the elder queen said, finally speaking up. “You don’t even need to hire anyone to fight or climb into the silos when you have yourself, The Demon, and your squeeze, Anika.”

I coughed, surprised that she knew Anika’s name, let alone her abilities. Then again, it made sense for them to do their research if they were going to pin something I did on me. And Anika and I were certainly extensions of each other at this point.

“Let me ask you this, do you really think that I would have escaped from a brawl with however many guards you had around the silos unscathed?” I scoffed. “I’m good, but I’m not that good.” Lies—I really was that good and more. But they didn’t know that, let them underestimate me.

The queens seemed slightly placated at that statement, but the golden queen seemed unconvinced.

“You were not unscathed,” the golden queen said.

I quirked a brow. “Excuse me? I’m fairly certain that I know when I get hurt in a fight, it happened every night of my life for a number of years, believe it or not.”

She shook out her blonde mane in disagreement. “The guards who picked you up from said that one of your hands and wrists was swollen with some skin missing from your knuckles and a few scratches on your hand. Care to explain what those are from? I’m sure there’s another _happy coincidence_ that you can’t wait to tell us about.”

“Oh,” I said eloquently. “No, not a happy coincidence I’m afraid, an unhappy one. I have a temper and an older sister who enjoys aggravating me. We got into an argument before I sailed here for a vacation, one of the reasons I actually came on vacation, and I put my hand through a few inches of mahogany, and straight through my desk.”

The golden queen raised a brow. “Really?”

“Really,” I confirmed. “Bled all over a carpet that my twin and Anika picked out for me to add some color to my office. I had to buy a new one and everything, you can ask my maid if you would like confirmation, or I can give you the name of the store I ordered it from and they will confirm my order.”

The eldest queen sighed and waved her hand disparagingly. “None of this matters. You had the means and the motive to crash the economy to scare us into meeting with you, your family, and your Night Court. That’s enough to condemn you.”

I shook my head. “I disagree. Certainly, I had the means, and certainly I am no fan of any of yours. But this does not discard the fact that I had money invested in sugar and one of the things which matters most to me in life is my money, shallow as that statement may be. But please consider, now that the sugar is gone along with a fair amount of my money, what are people going to be using instead of sugar?”

The black-haired queen scowled at me. “What does that matter?”

I smiled. “Humor me,” I asked.

She cocked her head. “Molasses, I suppose. Honey.”

“And who has a significant amount of money invested in both? And who has nearly as many resources as I do? Well, perhaps not nearly, I am significantly richer than him now.”

The light and dark opposites leaned forward, interested for the first time in proceedings. The light one asked, “Who?”

“Master Fowl of the Guild.”

The eldest queen let out a disbelieving bark. “Master Fowl? I know him.” That made far too much sense. “He is a long-standing member of the Guild, and the head of it, if memory serves.”

I nodded in agreement. “You remember correctly.” A little flattery never hurt anyone when you were trying to keep your head attached to your shoulders. I had a few people who I wanted to see again before the end. “I am reluctant to push his name forwards, he is the head of the Guild so I bear an allegiance to him, but it makes sense—he has the resources and everything to gain, far more than me.”

Master Fowl, one of the worst people I’d ever met had only ever been an obstacle to me and my spice trade route. He stood between me and the rest of the money and resources I could accumulate during my life to devote to the protection of those around me, and with the war looming I needed more money than ever. I had never originally meant to leave him out to dry, but he was such a tempting target, and such a perfect fit. It had been satisfying to wreck his face with a teacup but having him beheaded was so much better.

“These are serious allegations,” the light one of the pair said.

“Contrary to popular belief I am actually a serious person,” I quipped. The dark one of the pair quirked a smile along with the black-haired queen. The golden queen seemed torn between amused and exasperated whilst the eldest still seemed like she wanted my head on a spike.

The golden queen blinked. “We will conduct a serious investigation into your allegations against Master Fowl.” I doubted it. “We will confer on your guilt or innocence, in the mean time you will be returned to your cell awaiting our verdict.”

I nodded, the guards didn’t bother eliciting a bow from me, a pair of them simply grabbed each of my arms and hauled me from the room.

DARIUS POV 

“Should we get her anything?” Anna asked, peering through the crack in the door into the library where Nesta was sitting, staring at the wall. This would not have been unusual if she had not been doing it for the past few days.

“You’ve refilled her tea and cakes five times today and she’s touched none of it, I don’t think there’s much you can do for her or offer her at this point.” Anna sighed, her slight shoulders rising and falling.

“I know, I just feel bad for her—she’s been shaken up since McGarry’s office, especially since the news coverage surrounding his assassination has been on the front page of every newspaper and the subject of all the ladies’ chatter when they visit.” I shrugged uncaringly. It was better it was McGarry with a snapped neck rather than either of us. I’d never bring myself to be sorry about ending his miserable life.

“I need to go,” I sighed, “I have drills to run with the men. War’s getting closer and closer, I can’t really afford to care about Nesta’s eating habits.” Anna nodded in agreement.

“I’m going to go check on Elain and grab the mail from the post office in town. Do you need me to get anything while I’m there?”

I shook my head no and headed away down the hall, stopping only to call over my shoulder, “Find me if there’s anything from Anika or Zoya, I’m starting to worry.”

ZOYA POV 

The trays were still filled with rotten food but there was now a glass of water with each meal, so there was definite improvement.

It took hours or days or minutes, I wasn’t sure, for the wrought iron door to my cell to open to reveal my guard again. He unshackled me again and hauled me out of my cell again.

He didn’t speak to me at all this time, didn’t glance at me anymore than he’d look at a piece of garbage on the street. He could be taking me to my death or to my freedom, and there really was no in between. I took no solace in the fact that we were not taking the same path we’d taken last time. I could be going to the gallows or the exit.

We came to a stop in front of a carved ironwood door which was flanked by two guards. My guard opened the door and thrust me into the room, or should I have said office? Behind the desk and backed by bookshelves as high as the ceiling was the golden queen.

She looked up at me expectantly.

I didn’t bow.

She didn’t comment on my insolence, merely gesturing to a plush seat in front of her desk. I took it, taking some twisted satisfaction from the fact that my grime was sinking into the expensive fabric. Petty revenge was the best type of revenge.

She smiled at me. It would have knocked my breath away if I’d had slightly more energy, but my body and mind have evidently given up on noticing when a woman was beautiful.

“I will not leave you in suspense, Master Archeron, you have been cleared of all charges.” That did knock the breath out of me. It was a battle not to slump over, exhausted and relieved—it would have been hard to work my way out of a beheading.

The golden queen seemed to pick up on my relief and smiled a little wider. “Understand, that a few of us believe you to be responsible, however, there was not enough evidence to convict you. You are more than one queen’s target now, and that is a dangerous position to be in.”

I shrugged. “I’m used to those. I trust Master Fowl is not actually being thoroughly investigated.”

She cocked her head, blonde curls pooling on her desk. “Is he not actually guilty?”

“Oh no, he’s certainly guilty. I may have motives but none of them compare to his greed. Is it the eldest queen who is protecting him?” It was such fun to leave Master Fowl in harm’s way, even if nothing came of it.

The golden queen gave the slightest of nods.

I cocked my head to the side, curious. “You do not agree with her.” It was more statement than question.

“Understand, many of us defer to her due to her experience. We are prone to following in her tracks and submitting to her judgements,” the golden queen explained with a sigh. She clearly wasn’t happy with the situation. She just needed a little more pressure to submit to my judgement instead.

“Is there any other decision she and the others have made that you do not agree with?” I asked. The queen went rigid and still—I couldn’t be certain if she was breathing at all. “Anything to do with Hybern that your subjects should be aware of?”

Now she definitely wasn’t breathing. I kept pressing. “You don’t agree with them, do you?”

She swallowed. “Hybern offer us unimaginable power, with this power would could protect and advocate for humans against the fae. We would be strong enough to rule alongside the fae—and opportunity like this will never arise again, not in our lifetime or any others’.”

I rolled my eyes, exasperated. “Oh yes, you have the choice of a lifetime, submit us to our former masters or protect us from them.” I pretended to think, tapping a finger to my lips. “What a hard, complicated decision. To commit millions to death or not to?”

The queen snarled, leaning forwards. “Do not condescend to me.”

“Don’t be a selfish fucking idiot then,” I snarled back, temper flaring and forcing her back into her chair. I forced myself to slow my breathing before continuing. “You care about your people, that is more than the other queens can say. And a queen is no true ruler if she does not care for her people. You _know_ that the best possible outcome for humans lies with the Night Court. Hybern will slaughter you all. Please, please meet with Rhysand and work with him. They need the other half of the Book of Breathings to have a chance against Hybern, and to disable the cauldron.”

The queen hesitated. “The other queens will not want to meet.”

“Then go on your own,” I supplied. “We don’t need all the queens to give us the book, just one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what y'all think :)


	45. Chapter 45

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo, I have a good reason for the slightly longer gap between updates: I got myself landed in hospital. So anyway, read away and enjoy.

DARIUS POV

“Darius?” Anna shouted somewhere down the hall and possibly down a flight of stairs or two.

“In here,” I shouted back, not looking up from the stacks of paper on Zoya’s desk. They were filled with the information for the mercenaries’ salaries. I needed to get in touch with one of Zoya’s many banks to get them to transfer the money to the mercenaries’ accounts—or I could just use my own money. Afterall, I had been given a significant chunk of Adrassy’s fortune after his untimely death.

“Where _exactly_ is ‘here’?” Anna shouted, she sounded slightly closer this time.

“Would you two _please_ keep it down?” Elain shouted—she’d been huffing over wedding organization all morning and that was enough to put anyone in a bad mood. Her fiancé had visited earlier in the day and I’d heard a ridiculously long argument over what shade of purple a certain flower in Elain’s bouquet should be. Elain had won the argument after Nesta had stormed up two flights of stairs to tell them to be quiet while simultaneously insulting the fiancé’s taste in colors.

Nesta was slowly but surely coming back around. It was nice, even if I would hate it in a few days.

“Zoya’s office,” I called again, slightly quieter this time. I could still hear Elian sigh in exasperation.

Anna thumped up the stairs and hurtled into Zoya’s office breathless with her cheeks tinged pink. She waved an official looking letter.

“Zoya? Anika?” I asked hopefully, perking up. Zoya would know how to have all the mercenaries’ salaries sent to them, then I wouldn’t have to deal with it.

Anna shook her head, chest still heaving. “The Queens.” My spine stiffened. “They’ve set another meeting date, we need to send word to the Night Court.”

“I’ll get word to the Spymaster if you organize the mercenaries’ salaries—we can’t let them get antsy about their pay with the war so close. The island and people need their meat shield.” Anna raised her brows at me, a taunting smile working its way onto her face.

“You don’t know how to pay them?” She teased.

“Of course I do,” I said too quickly. Anna snorted and rolled her eyes.

“Fine, get word to Azriel. I’ll take care of the men’s salaries.”

I didn’t bother hiding the way my shoulders slumped in relief. I paused. “Nothing from Zoya or Anika?”

Anna shook her head. “No. Nothing.”

ZOYA POV

Anika had been easy enough to find— dressed in a simple cotton tunic with her golden hair tied back with a bolt of cloth, handing out food in one of my brand-new soup kitchens.

She hadn’t remarked on my state of filth, simply rolled her eyes and complained that I’d somehow lost more weight. I’d posted a letter to Anna, but whether it got to the house before us was another matter—the mail service on the continent was apparently abysmal.

It took all of a few hours between my release to have a decent meal and a bath, before chartering a ship home. Hopefully we’d get there before anything drastic happened.

I could never be certain what Nesta would drag people into, especially due to her determination to do something with her confidence that she could see anything through. It was a dangerous combination—it could easily end up with someone dead.

DARIUS POV

The woods creeped me out. I had no idea how Feyre had managed to hunt in them for years. Then again, I was a city rat—anything other than a city set my teeth on edge. I stalked past the trees and into a small clearing.

The mercenary army had watched me go, offering help and their weapons to aid me. I’d shaken them off—I didn’t need help and I couldn’t have an escort. Azriel’s chosen workers were often watching the house from here. They would also give me letters from Rhysand, and I would go into town and post them.

I stood awkwardly in the clearing, letter clenched in one fist and arms hanging awkwardly at my sides.

“Hello?” I called to the trees. The trees did nothing. “Anyone there?”

The trees still didn’t do anything.

I squinted at the shadows. “Hello,” I coaxed. “Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

The shadows let out a soft laugh and started to shift.

Shadow and smoke spilled out from a tree’s shadow, shifting and twisting into the form of a corporeal woman with night-black eyes and hair. She smiled at me, pointed canines and gently tapered ears on display.

“You looked ridiculous,” she teased with a voice like midnight.

I offered her a gentle smile in return. “Hello Nuala,” I greeted. “Where’s your other half?”

The shadows still spooling off her shoulders in waves twitched at the greeting. “Cerridwen is observing her own site.” She always did this—half-answers with vague inflections. Azriel had trained his underlings well. Give nothing away and hint at nothing.

I offered her the letter. Her pale fingers curled around it, smoke flowed off of them and rippled around the letter. She opened and scanned it, when she finished her black eyes glinted.

“They will meet with us again,” she breathed, relieved. The shadows and smoke around her stilled, for once.

She did not pause to say goodbye, merely twisting and dissipating back into the shadows where she came from.

FEYRE POV  


The sun had barely set as Rhys and I walked hand in hand into the dining room of the House of Wind, and found Mor, Azriel, Amren, and Cassian already seated. Waiting for us.

As one, they stood.

As one, they looked at me.

And as one, they bowed.

It was Amren who said, “We will serve and protect.”

They each placed a hand over their heart.

Waiting—for my reply.

Rhys hadn’t warned me, and I wondered if the words were supposed to come from my heart, spoken without agenda or guile. So I voiced them.

“Thank you,” I said, willing my voice to be steady. “But I’d rather you were my friends before the serving and protecting.”

Mor said with a wink, “We are. But we will serve and protect.”

My face warmed, and I smiled at them. My—family.

“Now that we’ve settled that,” Rhys drawled from behind me, “can we please eat? I’m famished.” Amren opened her mouth with a wry smile, but he added, “Do not say what you were going to say, Amren.” Rhys gave Cassian a sharp look. Both of them were still bruised—but healing fast. “Unless you want to have it out on the roof.”

Amren clicked her tongue and instead jerked her chin at me. “I heard you grew fangs in the forest and killed some Hybern beasts. Good for you, girl.”

“She saved his sorry ass is more like it,” Mor said, filling her glass of wine. “Poor little Rhys got himself in a bind.”

I held out my own glass for Mor to fill. “He does need unusual amounts of coddling.”

We left for the mortal lands soon after dinner. Mor carried the orb; Cassian carried her, Azriel flying close, and Rhys … Rhys held me tightly, his arms strong and unyielding around me. We were silent as we soared over the dark water.

As we went to show the queens the secret they’d all suffered so much, for so long, to keep.

ZOYA POV

Home sweet home—great. I might have been happy to return if literally anything other than a pissed-off Nesta was waiting for me. I could escape her by cowering behind Elain or Darius, but Elain would want to discuss the wedding with me which, frankly, I’d be useless with. Besides, I wasn’t exactly fond of her fiancé, but I could be certain that he would look after her, and care for her. I might hate him, but I could hardly claim that he didn’t care for her.

I’d be hiding behind Darius, then.

A few of the footmen were waiting for Anika and I’s carriage. She’d spent the whole ride sprawled out and sleeping—running a soup kitchen or twenty for a week or so was hard work. I’d spent the whole ride chowing down on cookies. The week and a half I’d sent in the Queen’s custody had been more than enough to push me back to square one in terms of my weight. My ribs were jutting out again—they hadn’t done that for months.

The footmen easily unloaded our luggage as well as a few new cases of _stuff_. Apparently, Elain had given Anika a shopping list of things to pick up for the wedding. Anika also took the opportunity to go shopping for what she called ‘more than a few things.’

I prodded her, and when she didn’t wake up I slung her in my arms and carried her into the house. A few of the footmen gawked a bit, but they all hurried back to their work when the eldest of them barked at them to ‘help out with these damn half-ton cases.’

I dropped Anika off in our bed and pulled the covers over her before tromping through my house.

Elain was in her room—I didn’t bother going in, I’d greet my twin later when what I could see through the crack in the door wasn’t piles and piles of different colored bolts of cloth and strewn flowers. Weddings and brides were a special type of torture. I could only hope that Graysen saw fit to give my twin a slightly more glamorous wedding ring than some pathetic ring made of iron. I’d send him a strongly worded letter about it. Elain deserved better than some guy who came form a lineage of those crazed with the need to kill fae—not that I was one to talk. I wanted the High Lord of Spring’s pelt as a rug for my bathroom and I had an army Darius and I had trained to kill fae and enough ash wood to bring down hundreds of thousands of fae.

I found Nesta and Anna in the library.

Anna was organizing the shelves, and she greeted me with a brisk hug.

“Where’s Darius?”

“Meeting with one of Azriel’s underlings,” she whispered. She was probably the only person in this house who respected the idea that a library should be quiet. “We’ve had words from the Queens.”

I raised my brows, mildly surprised. That had been fast—the golden queen had a spine on her, it seemed. “When are we meeting them?”

“After dinner.”

This time my brows shot up. “That fast?”

Anna nodded. “It was fast. But at least it means that they’re willing to work with us now.” I shook my head, the revelation that the Queens had been communicating with Hybern flashing through my head.

“Or that they’re done stringing us along, and they’ve decided that they have no interest in working with us.” I rolled out my shoulders while Anna seemed dubious.

“We’re the best shot they have for protecting their people, for protecting humans—why would they say no?”

I shook my head. “I don’t think they’re particularly concerned with that.” I left Anna looking slightly disturbed and went up to Nesta.

She did nothing.

Nothing—

Eventually, she set her blazing eyes on me. “You were right.”

Now I was really surprised. “I’m right about most things,” I conceded. “But what specifically?”

My older sister took another moment, her eyes steely. “Never mind,” she breathed. “It doesn’t matter anymore. It’s over.” Suspicion swelled in the pit of my stomach.

I narrowed my eyes. “What happened, Nesta?” 

And so she told me about her hair-brained plan. And Darius having to clean up her mess.

I didn’t bother comforting her—even when she slumped slightly in her plush chair and stared up at me for some kind of reaction. I didn’t bother telling her that she had done her best, and that was what actually mattered—this was war. There was no room for missteps.

“Nesta,” I sighed, eyes hardening. “Never— _never_ do something like that again.”

FEYRE POV

Spring had dawned on the human world, and Elain’s gardens were more beautiful than ever, with crocuses and daffodils poking their heads out of the thawed earth.  The mansion was beautiful as ever, and somehow, Zoya had managed to clear out the hundreds, if not thousands, of men who were guarding my family with ash weapons.

The blonde-haired maid let us in again without even looking at us twice. She was pretty, if small. She took our cloaks and hung them neatly in the hall for us.

We walked through the house and into the same entry hall where we’d met the Queens last. The maid followed us in.

“Zoya needs to speak with you before the Queens arrive,” she said, voice soft. “It’s important.”

Apprehension curled in my gut. I nodded and the maid breezed out of the room. She seemed completely unfazed by whatever Zoya apparently had to talk to me about, so I could hope that it wasn’t too serious. Rhys came up to my side, placing a steadying hand on my arm.

“I hope it’s nothing too bad,” I muttered, leaning into my mate.

“I’m sure it’s nothing horrible,” Rhys murmured. “She is certainly one for dramatics.”

I had to concede that point.

ZOYA POV

Feyre and her bad-bitch posse had arrived according to Anna. I hurried down the stairs to find Darius waiting for me.

“It’s good to see you alive after not hearing from you for nearly a month,” Darius drawled, leaning on the stair’s ornate banister. “Granted, you’ve got a pretty good excuse—being locked up by those whiny Queens in a little box.”

“They fed me rotting food,” I said, crinkling my nose. Darius clapped a hand over his mouth in mock horror.

“No,” he gasped sarcastically. “There’s no way you’re used to that after the red-light district.”

“I know, right? Horrifying.”

Darius ran a critical eye over me. “You need to get some more meat on you—you look like a sack of bones again.”

I kicked him in the shin. “Rude—never comment on someone’s appearance unless you’re saying something nice.”

He wasn’t wrong—didn’t mean I was happy about it. Being bony as all hell was horrible. I got cold easily, there was always some bone jutting out and that was uncomfortable. None of my clothes fit anymore. I got bloated really fast when I ate. My hair and nails got brittle—the list went on. I needed to put on weight—I’d have to ask Anna to spend the next few weeks brining me a steady stream of sugar and fat-laden foods so I could try to pack on a few pounds.

Darius kicked me back before nodding at the entrance hall. “Your sister and her bitches have arrived.” I raised a brow.

“You’re not coming in to deal with the asshole Queens? It could be fun,” I coaxed. “You can call them all sorts of fun and accurate names.” Darius just shook his head.

“I know how the meeting will go: the Queens say something awful, Feyre and her bitches say something deep and morally correct, the Queens continue to be awful, and then you and Nesta call the Queens assholes and decide to cash another economy.”

I blinked. “Are we all that predictable?”

“Yes.” Well, that was upsetting—I needed to come up with another form of cruel and unusual punishment for the Queens, something befitting of their status.

I left Darius standing at the bottom of the stairs, no doubt waiting for Anna to appear out of thin air the way she usually did.

Feyre and her court were waiting inside the hall.

Feyre was dressed in a flowing, ivory gown and a crown of gold feathers, once again at Rhy’s side. Rhys was beautiful as ever with his midnight purple eyes flashing as they set on me, and all buttoned up in a fitted night-blue coat with silver embroidery. I smiled at the two of them in greeting. They responded in kind.

Cassian and Azriel looked menacing as ever, with shadows lapping and whispering at Azriel and Cassian’s feral grin setting itself on me. “Hello Zoya,” he purred, voice low and dangerous. His wings and talons glinted in the last sunlight of the day streaming through the windows.

“Hello bat-boy,” I greeted. Azriel and Rhys coughed, while Feyre and Morrigan clamped their lips shut.

Morrigan was resplendent in a blue-green gown, with her tan hands wrapped safely around a creepy onyx box. I pointed at the box. “What’s in that?” I asked, not really sure I wanted to hear the answer.

“The Veritas,” Morrigan supplied, biting her lower lip.  

“Thanks,” I said, completely bewildered as to what the fuck a ‘Veritas’ was. “That clears it right up.” She certainly didn’t seem happy about the ‘Veritas’ being here or this meeting, but I wasn’t about to prod a fae into satisfying my curiosity. I moved on and turned to Rhys and my little sister and let my face fall.

“We need to talk.” Rhys and my sister went still.

“What is it?” Feyre asked, blue-grey eyes flashing. Rhys shifted in place next to her. They were hand-in-hand, without end or beginning. How cute.

There was no point in mincing my words with this—there was no delicate way to put this, nor should there be. “So, the Queens have continued being bigger pieces of shit than I would have thought possible. You lot—” I waved my arm at Feyre’s posse “—are not the only fae they’ve been in contact with.” I was fairly certain none of the fae in the room were breathing anymore as they’d all gone quite still. “I’ve heard it from the guard who delivered their mail and from the golden queen herself—the Queens have been in contact with Hybern, and from what I can divine Hybern is offering them an excellent deal, complete with the cauldron’s services.”

The fae had all gone very, very pale. Rhys gripped onto an ornate table, Feyre gripped onto Rhys. Without turning to look at them, I had a hunch that Cassian, Azriel, and Morrigan were doing the same. “Do you know if they have agreed to side with Hybern?” Azriel piped up, his voice dangerously soft. The shadows around him were lashing back and forth violently.

I shrugged a bit. “I don’t know if all of them have—the eldest queen seems like a lost cause, however, she’s completely gung-ho about joining up with Hybern, and from what I’ve heard the other Queens are just marching to her beat. The golden queen doesn’t agree with them, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t tempted by the cauldron’s power.” I might have imagined it, but Morrigan’s shoulders seemed to loosen at the mention of the golden queen not siding with Hybern. “I think I got through to her a bit when I met with her, but you’re still going to need an impressive display to get her to side with us. She’s not _convinced_ that we’re better, or a better shot for her people if she manages to put them before her own selfish agenda.”

Rhys shifted on his feet and Feyre seemed to reanimate. “We’ll go through with this meeting as planned,” he decreed, though he looked far from happy about the whole situation. “We can’t trust the other Queens, but if we have a shot at persuading one of them we need to take advantage of it. We will not have this chance again.”

I nodded in agreement. “We don’t need all the Queens to get the Book, we only need one.”

Morrigan’s shoulders tensed, hands gripping at the onyx box with a little too much force. “We can’t show them,” she hissed, anger flaring in her brown eyes. “If they are with Hybern they will take this secret, Velaris, and raze it. There will be nothing, _nothing_ left of our home if Hybern learns of its existence—they will attack.” Silver was starting to line the brim of her eyes, and while I didn’t know the female well some part of me urged me to walk to her and comfort her. I did no such thing.

Rhys seemed more conflicted than not. Cassian and Azriel shifted uncomfortably as Morrigan turned her desperate gaze to them, pleading for their support in calling off the meeting. Azriel wouldn’t meet her eyes while Cassian looked up at Rhys. Rhys cocked his head in question, as if asking _Is this worth it?_

Cassian nodded. “In the grand scheme of things, Velaris, while important, is not critical to the continued existence of the Night Court and our efforts in the upcoming war. We can survive without and rebuild if it is attacked, not to mention the fact that Velaris is far from defenseless, and it’s not as if we will not be there to fend off an attack from Hybern.”

I could see Morrigan’s heart crumple in front of me. But she conceded to Cassian and Rhys, looking at the onyx box in her hands as if she’d very much like to destroy its contents.

The debate was cut off by my human sisters entering the room. Elain and Nesta were all dolled up in their finery. Elain looked a little frazzled from her wedding planning, with a few strands of hair out of place and her dress rumpled. All traces of Nesta’s shame from earlier had dissipated, leaving my sister made of steel. It was good to see her back to her normal self, even if she had been a complete idiot.

It took only mere minutes for two of the Queens to materialize in our entry hall, along with their guards. Only the eldest and the golden-haired queens came this time.

They were escorted by just as many guards, however.

Rhys and Feyre stood hand in hand to greet them.

The eldest queen slid her cunning eyes over them, their hands, their crowns, and merely sat without invitation, adjusting the skirts of her emerald gown around her. The golden queen remained standing for a moment longer, her shining, curly head angling slightly. Her red lips twitched upward as she claimed the seat beside her companion. She paused briefly to rest her eyes on me for a moment longer than the others.

Rhys did not so much as lower his head to them as he said, “We appreciate you taking the time to see us again.”

The younger queen merely gave a little nod, and scanned the room: Cassian and Azriel on either side of the bay of windows where Elain and Nesta stood in their finery, Elain’s garden in bloom behind them. Nesta’s shoulders were already locked. Elain bit her lip.

The eldest queen was carefully avoiding looking at me, while the golden queen kept slipping glances at me, taking in my bony shoulders and sides as my old clothing bagged around me. A flash of guilt flitted through her amber eyes.

Morrigan walked forward and stood on Rhys’s other side.

The ancient queen, surveying us all with narrowed eyes, let out a huff. “After being so gravely insulted the last time …” A simmering glare thrown at Nesta and myself. My sister leveled a look of pure, unyielding flame right back at her. I gave her a shit-eating grin. The old woman clicked her tongue. “We debated for many days whether we should return. As you can see, three of us found the insult to be unforgivable.”

Liar. To blame it on Nesta and myself and our antics, to try to sow discord between us for what we had tried to defend …

Feyre said with surprising calm, “If that is the worst insult any of you have ever received in your lives, I’d say you’re all in for quite a shock when war comes.” I clamped my mouth shut, resisting the urge to let out an unladylike snort.

The younger one’s lips twitched again, amber eyes alight—a lion incarnate. She purred to Feyre, “So he won your heart after all, Cursebreaker.”

My sister held her stare as she and Rhys both sat in their chairs, Morrigan sliding into one beside him. “I do not think,” Feyre said, “that it was mere coincidence that the Cauldron let us find each other on the eve of war returning between our two peoples.”

“The Cauldron? And two peoples?” The golden one toyed with a ruby ring on her finger. “Our people do not invoke a Cauldron; our people do not have magic. The way I see it, there is your people—and ours. You are little better than those Children of the Blessed.” She lifted a groomed brow. “What does happen to them when they cross the wall?” She angled her head at Rhys, at Cassian and Azriel. “Are they prey? Or are they used and discarded, and left to grow old and infirm while you remain young forever? Such a pity … so unfair that you, Cursebreaker, received what all those fools no doubt begged for. Immortality, eternal youth … What would Lord Rhysand have done if you had aged while he did not?”

Some part of me understood her argument—it was a little bit weird to invoke a giant magic pot.

Rhys said evenly, “Is there a point to your questions, other than to hear yourself talk?” I had to be impressed with his restraint, I’d be leaning over the table by now and trying to throttle her if she’d come after Anika and myself like that.

A low chuckle, and she turned to the ancient queen, her yellow dress rustling with the movement. The old woman simply extended a wrinkled hand to the onyx box in Morrigan’s slender fingers. “Is that the proof we asked for?”

Whatever their secret was, this Velaris, I would have given all my wealth then and there to prevent it from being shared with the Queens and with Hybern. Feyre and Marrigan were both clearly on the edge of snatching the box away from the Queen’s grasp.

Before Morrigan could so much as nod, Feyre said, “Is my love for the High Lord not proof enough of our good intentions? Does my sisters’ presence here not speak to you? There is an iron engagement ring upon my sister’s finger—and yet she stands with us.”

Elain seemed to be fighting the urge to tuck her hand behind the skirts of her pale pink and blue dress, but stayed tall while the Queens surveyed her.

“I would say that it is proof of her idiocy,” the golden one sneered, “to be engaged to a Fae-hating man … and to risk the match by associating with you.”

“Do not,” Nesta hissed with quiet venom, “judge what you know nothing about.”

The golden one folded her hands in her lap. “The viper speaks again.” She raised her brows at me. “Surely the wise move would have been to have her sit this meeting out.”

“She offers up her house and risks her social standing for us to have these meetings,” I said. “She has the right to hear what is spoken in them. To stand as a representative of the people of these lands. They both do. And if you condescend to her, or any of my sisters in our own home again, I can assure you, that another economic collapse will occur.”

The old one’s eyes narrowed. “Are you admitting your guilt?” The fae in the room resisted showing any form of surprise, but I knew Feyre’s tells too well—she was shocked.

I shook my head, brushing off the queen. “Hardly, I am merely warning you that I am capable of much more than your precious Master Fowl, and that, should I want to, I could very easily bring all of your wealth and palaces crashing to the ground in ruins.”

The crone interrupted the younger before she could reply, and again waved that wrinkled hand at Morrigan. “Show us, then. Prove us wrong.”

Rhys gave Morrigan a subtle nod—a command to leave what she held dear vulnerable. This ‘Velaris.’

War is sacrifice.

Morrigan opened the lid of the black box.

The silver orb inside glimmered like a star under glass. “This is the Veritas,” Morrigan said in a voice that was young and old. “The gift of my first ancestor to our bloodline. Only a few times in the history of Prythian have we used it—have we unleashed its truth upon the world.”

I couldn’t help it—I leaned forward to get a closer look.

She lifted the orb from its velvet nest. It was no larger than a ripe apple, and fit within her cupped palms as if her entire body, her entire being, had been molded for it.

“Truth is deadly. Truth is freedom. Truth can break and mend and bind. The Veritas holds in it the truth of the world. I am the Morrigan,” she said, her eyes not wholly of this earth. The hair on my arms rose. “You know I speak truth.”

She set the Veritas onto the carpet. Both queens leaned in.

But it was Rhys who said, “You desire proof of our goodness, our intentions, so that you may trust the Book in our hands?” The Veritas began pulsing, a web of light spreading with each throb. “There is a place within my lands. A city of peace. And art. And prosperity. As I doubt you or your guards will dare pass through the wall, then I will show it to you—show you the truth of these words, show you this place within the orb itself.”

Morrigan stretched out a hand, and a pale cloud swirled from the orb, merging with its light.

The Queens flinched, the guards edging forward with hands on their weapons. But the clouds continued roiling as the truth of it, of this ‘Velaris,’ leaked from the orb, from whatever it dragged up from Morrigan, from Rhys. From the truth of the world.

And in the gray gloom, a picture appeared.

It was a city, as seen from above. A speck in the coast, but gradually, the city and the river became clearer, vibrant.

Then the image banked and swerved—shot past boats and piers, past the homes and streets and theaters. Past the Rainbow of Velaris, so colorful and lovely in the new spring sun. Fae, happy and thoughtful, kind and welcoming, waved up at us out of the orb. Moment after moment, images of the Palaces, of the restaurants, of the House of Wind. All of it—all of that secret, wondrous city.

The illusion faded, color and light and cloud sucked back into the orb.

“That is Velaris,” Rhys said. Some part of my heart sank—we’d condemned this beautiful city and its inhabitants to what would most likely be a slow, cruel death for a great deal of them. Sacrifices had to be made in War, this much was true, but it did not mean that these sacrifices were not tragedies. “For five thousand years, we have kept it a secret from outsiders. And now you know. That is what I protect with the rumors, the whispers, the fear. Why I fought for your people in the War—only to begin my own supposed reign of terror once I ascended my throne, and ensured everyone heard the legends about it. But if the cost of protecting my city and people is the contempt of the world, then so be it.”

The two queens were gaping at the carpet as if they could still see the city there. Morrigan cleared her throat. The golden one, as if Morrigan had barked, started and dropped an ornate lace handkerchief on the ground. She leaned to pick it up, cheeks a bit red.

I made eye contact with her as she rose from picking it up. Her amber eyes scanned me from head to toe in an instant, and then, ever so imperceptibly, she nodded.

The book was as good as in my pocket—but the others didn’t know that. And the golden queen had a role to play from here on out—a queen loyal to her elder.

But the crone raised her eyes to us. “Your trust is … appreciated.”

We waited.

Both of their faces turned grave, unmoved. The eldest added at last, “We will consider.”

“There is no time to consider,” Morrigan countered. “Every day lost is another day that Hybern gets closer to shattering the wall.”

“We will discuss amongst our companions, and inform you at our leisure.”

“Do you not understand the risks you take in doing so?” Rhys said, no hint of condescension. Only—only perhaps shock. “You need this alliance as much as we do.”

I wanted to shout from the rooftops that we didn’t need their loyalty anymore—that we already had the one alliance that mattered. We had the book.

The ancient queen shrugged her frail shoulders. “Did you think we would be moved by your letter, your plea?” She jerked her chin to the guard closest, and he reached into his armor to pull out a folded letter. The old woman read, “I write to you not as a High Lord, but as a male in love with a woman who was once human. I write to you to beg you to act quickly. To save her people—to help save my own. I write to you so one day we might know true peace. So I might one day be able to live in a world where the woman I love may visit her family without fear of hatred and reprisal. A better world.” She set down the letter.

Feyre reached across the space between her and Rhys and took his hand, squeezing gently. Rhys’s fingers tightened around hers.

But then the ancient one said, “Who is to say that this is not all some grand manipulation?”

“What?” Morrigan blurted. I rolled my eyes—she was old as she was dull. She was also looking for a way out of this that didn’t involve offending a High Lord who could fracture her mind without a second thought so that she could slink back to Hybern.

The golden queen nodded her agreement and dared say to Morrigan, “A great many things have changed since the War. Since your so-called friendships with our ancestors. Perhaps you are not who you say you are. Perhaps the High Lord has crept into our minds to make us believe you are the Morrigan.” I resisted the urge to smile and give the queen a thumbs-up. She was playing her role well—I had no doubt she had been unwilling to trust us initially, but with this demonstration, she was ours. She was on our side.

Rhys was silent—we all were. Until Nesta said too softly, ‘This is the talk of madwomen. Of arrogant, stupid fools.”

Elain grabbed for Nesta’s hand to silence her. But Nesta stalked forward a step, face white with rage. “Give them the Book.” I wanted to laugh gleefully again—we already had it. I resisted the urge to look at the golden queen again, to smile at her and thank her on my knees. I’d never once bowed in my life—but I could make an exception.

The queens blinked, stiffening.

My sister snapped, “Give them the Book.”

And the eldest queen hissed, “No.”

I wanted to urge Nesta to shut up—the sooner we let the Queens leave the sooner we had the book.

But Nesta went on, flinging out an arm to encompass us, the room, the world, “There are innocent people here. In these lands. If you will not risk your necks against the forces that threaten us, then grant those people a fighting chance. Give my sister the Book.”

The crone sighed sharply through her nose. “An evacuation may be possible—”

“You would need ten thousand ships,” Nesta said, her voice breaking. “You would need an armada. I have calculated the numbers. And if you are readying for war, you will not send your ships to us. We are stranded here.”

I resisted the urge to correct her that it had, in fact, been me who had calculated the numbers and ordered the construction of tens, if not hundreds of massive ships to help an evacuation if need be. They were currently sitting in ports on the continent under Father’s watch—along with four magnificent warships—The Nesta, The Elain, The Feyre, and The Demon.

The crone gripped the polished arms of her chair as she leaned forward a bit. “Then I suggest asking one of your winged males to carry you across the sea, girl.”

Nesta’s throat bobbed. “Please.” I didn’t think I’d ever heard that word from her mouth. “Please—do not leave us to face this alone.”

The eldest queen remained unmoved. I had no words in my head other than _please shut up so I can get the book and get a move on with my life_. But this—this needed to be convincing. I forced my face to carve itself into a vicious snarl. The guards and queens paled, leaning back. “Cowards,” I growled, low and deadly. “It will be your heads I’ll have on spikes first when this war goes badly for humans.”

But then Cassian crossed to Nesta, the guards stiffening as the Illyrian moved through them as if they were stalks of wheat in a field.

He studied Nesta for a long moment. She was still glaring at the queens, her eyes lined with tears—tears of rage and despair, from that fire that burned her so violently from within. When she finally noticed Cassian, she looked up at him.

His voice was rough as he said, “Five hundred years ago, I fought on battlefields not far from this house. I fought beside human and faerie alike, bled beside them. I will stand on that battlefield again, Nesta Archeron, to protect this house—your people. I can think of no better way to end my existence than to defend those who need it most.”

I watched a tear slide down Nesta’s cheek. And I watched as Cassian reached up a hand to wipe it away.

She did not flinch from his touch.

Nesta swallowed and at last turned away from Cassian. He stared at my sister a moment longer before facing the queens. A touching gesture—but unneeded. My fingers itched to curl around the book we’d risked so much for.

Without signal, the two women rose.

Morrigan demanded, on her feet as well, “Is it a sum you’re after? Name your price, then.”

The golden queen snorted and I resisted the urge to join her—if it had been a sum my pockets would have been empty and this fight would have been over a long time ago. “We have all the riches we need. We will now return to our palace to deliberate with our sisters.”

“You’re already going to say no,” Morrigan pushed.

The golden queen smirked. “Perhaps.” She met my gaze for what I somehow knew would be the last time and smiled. I dipped my head—a nod of respect. She took the crone’s withered hand.

The ancient queen lifted her chin. “We appreciate the gesture of your trust.”

Then they were gone.

I didn’t bother pausing like the rest of my family, I simply rushed forwards to the place where the golden queen had been sitting and found a box. She’d pulled it out when she’d reached for her handkerchief and met my eyes.

I glanced over at Rhys—he’d known too. He had stopped speaking to get us out of the meeting as fast as possible.

The book inside seemed to fill the room as I filled the box open. A note lay atop the gold metal of the book.

It sang—

Life and death and rebirth

Sun and moon and dark

Rot and bloom and bones

Hello, sweet little fighter, it seemed to purr. Hello demon in the night, bloodbringer. Hello, vicious beast and leashed lightning.

The book was chaotic—I could do without it.

I grabbed the note from the golden queen and snapped the box shut. “Shut up,” I hissed at it—and to my surprise, it did.

Feyre and the others seemed to blink at my command of it. Rhys picked the book up smoothly from my hands. I passed him the letter as well.

_I read your letter. About the woman you love. I believe you. And I believe in peace._

_I believe in a better world._

_If anyone asks, you stole this during the meeting._

_Do not trust the others. The sixth queen was not ill and we have been writing to Hybern._

_Give my regards to Master Zoya Archeron, The Demon._

That was it.

Rhys picked up the Book of Breathings.

He turned and said to me and my two human sisters, Cassian sticking close to Nesta, “It is your choice, ladies, whether you wish to remain here, or come with us. You have heard the situation at hand. You have done the math about an evacuation.” A nod of approval as he met Nesta’s gray-blue stare. I squashed the urge to prod him and point out that I had a role in this too. “Should you choose to remain, a unit of my soldiers will be here within the hour to guard this place. Should you wish to come live with us in that city we just showed them, I’d suggest packing now.”

Nesta looked to Elain, still silent and wide-eyed. The tea she’d prepared—the finest, most exotic tea money could buy—sat undisturbed on the table.

Elain thumbed the iron ring on her finger.

“It is your choice,” Nesta said with unusual gentleness. For her, Nesta would go to Prythian.

Elain swallowed, a doe caught in a snare. “I—I can’t. I …”

But Rhys nodded—kindly. With understanding. “The sentries will be here, and remain unseen and unfelt. They will look after themselves. Should you change your minds, one will be waiting in this room every day at noon and at midnight for you to speak. My home is your home. Its doors are always open to you.”

Nesta looked between Rhys and Cassian, then to our little sister. Despair still paled her face, but … she bowed her head. And said to Feyre, “That was why you painted stars on your drawer.”

Rhys and Feyre turned to me. A glimmer of hope shining in Feyre’s eyes—she wanted me to come to Prythian. She wanted to show me her home and bring me into it. And the city—the city was beautiful. I wanted to run through those streets and explore every nook and cranny of the city, to meet the fae who had waved in the vision. I wanted to be with my little sister again—I wanted to know her new family.

And yet—

And yet.

I was human, mortal and fragile where they were immortal and durable. I had a future here on this side of The Wall—Anika in a wedding dress with that blue engagement ring I’d bought for her secured on her finger by a golden wedding band. Darius and I drinking long into the night and raising hell in Amre—lifelong friends, fighting and scuffling in training rings and in The Pits.

But on the other side of The Wall—I’d grow old alone and watch everyone start their lives anew after the war while my joints and bones gave out.

It would make sense to leave temporarily for my own safety—bring Darius, Anika, and Anna with me for the adventure of a lifetime. But, without my other human sisters going, I could not leave them, even with the protection of Rhysand.

I would protect my own—even if I couldn’t deal with them most of the time.

“No,” I said, squaring my shoulders. “My place is where I’m needed, and I can’t do much on your side of The Wall, so I’ll stay right here—where I can be of some use.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think, it's always great to hear feedback


	46. Chapter 46

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short one :)

ZOYA POV

I tilted my head sideways, staring at the massive pile of white tulle in the middle of the room. There were diamonds and sapphires crusting the edges of it, with some occasional lace embellishments. The pile of tulle wobbled precariously and turned to reveal Elain’s head popping out of the top of it, but only just.

Anika and Anna were clamping their lips shut and stifling their giggles. Anika had been sipping her wine non-stop in an effort to stay off her giggles as the dressmaker Elain had selected presented us with increasingly ridiculous wedding dress options. Anna had given up on serving us wine about half an hour ago, and now she was drinking it along with the rest of us. Nesta was drinking too.

I’d given up on wine almost immediately and had started on the hard stuff while I ate my way through an entire chocolate cake by myself. Nesta crinkled her nose delicately in disgust. Elain just looked envious—my poor twin had decided that she needed to maintain her figure for her wedding, which seemed somewhat preposterous to me.

I examined the tulle monstrosity one last time before turning to the dress-maker, who was clothed in an elegantly draped cerulean gown which was finished with gold highlights.

“Do you have anything less trashy?” I asked, shoveling cake into my mouth. That did it. Anika and Anna collapsed into giggles, wine sloshing dangerously in their cups. Elain, after a moment of polite hesitation started giggling as well.

“I can hardly walk in this!” Elain protested, blushing apologetically at the dressmaker. “I feel as if I’m going to fall over,” she explained, shooting Anna and Anika a look which said _please shut up_. “Do you have anything,” she gestured her arms at the massive dress, giving the appearance that a massive pile of tulle had become sentient and decided to dance, “less? Just less fabric?” The dressmaker immediately nodded.

“Is there anything other than the size which you dislike?” She asked Elain politely. Everything about the dressmaker was well put together and intentionally placed. There wasn’t a grey hair out of place on her head.

Elain turned and examined herself in one of the ten mirrors Anna had set up at the dressmaker’s behest. “I’m not sure I like the material…” she mused slowly. “Perhaps something a touch more traditional and elegant? Lace?” Elain glanced at Nesta, seemingly asking for support. Nesta immediately obliged.

“I’m looking at the dress and not my sister,” she supplied helpfully. She’d put my gut feeling in words. “If you can’t supply an adequate dress we will look elsewhere.” I stopped myself from laughing by stuffing another mouthful of cake in my mouth—there was the viper I knew and tolerated. The dressmaker took Nesta’s jab with considerably more grace than I would have thought possible, merely nodding her head in agreement and stating that she’d get Elain into a different dress. 

Elain and the dressmaker disappeared behind a screen. There were a few grunts as the tulle monstrosity was removed.

I turned to Nesta. “This isn’t going very well, is it?” Nesta rolled her eyes.

“This woman is going to put her most expensive gowns on Elain in the hopes that you will buy them. I expect we’re going to see a lot of useless, gaudy dresses before we see anything we like.” There was a thought. I’d be stuck here until a dressmaker gave up shoving expensive dresses under my nose—I had a sinking feeling that I’d be under the table by the end of the appointment.

THE GOLDEN QUEEN POV

They were coming for me. I raced down the pale marble halls of my palace—now a hunting ground where I was playing the part of the prey.

It was following me—

A towering figure with large, leathery wings, clawed hands, and sharp silver fangs with a disembodied voice of shifting sand. It called itself “The Attor.” And it set my blood cold. 

My lungs shredded themselves as my chest heaved frantically.

I was going to die—

It was a faerie, I had no chance.

I slid into an alcove where there were decorative iron spears anchored to the wall behind a burning brazier.

Zoya Archeron’s yellow hawk eyes flashed through my mind along with her growling, accusation of _coward_.

I wouldn’t die on my knees like cattle.

I grabbed the spear and turned out into the hallway where The Attor was waiting—a perfect predator. I readied my spear—what I wouldn’t give for my guards or a good fighter at my side. Learning to fight had always seemed unimportant, another sleight of had that did not matter in court, now I could see I was a fool for failing to hone that particular ability.

I gripped my spear a little tighter, palms sweating, and brandished it at the monster in front of me.

I loosed a snarl and lunged, The Attor sidestepped with a lethal grace and gripped me by my hair, slamming me into the ground. My eyes watered on impact, pain radiating through my body. I pushed the spear upwards, a desperate attempt—it hit him.

The Attor screeched, a horrible sound. My legs scrambled against the marble, trying to escape, but he held me firm by my scalp. His blood splattered onto the pristine marble beside me.

A blow to my head—

My vision faded in and out at a frantic pace and I fought the darkness leeching at the edges of my conscious. The Attor grabbed me, hauling my head up to face him. He pulled a knife from a sheath at his hip, a wickly sharp, stained thing. Death was coming for me.

He tapped the point of the knife against my temple. “Proud of your beauty, girl? Vain?” My throat clamped down on a whimper.

I did not answer.

The Attor clicked his tongue. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’ then,” he hissed. And the knife shifted, and freed my hair from my head. He tossed my curls to the side on the floor. I did not cry, much as I wanted to.

I would not give in.

I would not be a coward.

I turned to sneer a challenge at the Attor. “Is that all you’ve got?” I taunted. “Pathetic.” I would not humble myself or show fear to this filth. I would not yield.

The Attor screeched furiously—

And then he went for my right eye.

I would die.

But I would be in pain first.

It didn’t matter—I would take it. I could take it. I was stronger than my mortal flesh.

I would bear this for my people.

For a better future.

FEYRE POV

“It meant a great deal to me—what you promised my sister the other day.”

Cassian shrugged, his wings rustling. “I’d do it for anyone.”

“It meant a lot to her, too.” Hazel eyes narrowed slightly. But I casually watched the river. “Nesta is different from most people,” I explained. “She comes across as rigid and vicious, but I think it’s a wall. A shield—like the ones Rhys has in his mind.”

“Against what?”

“Feeling. I think Nesta feels everything—sees too much; sees and feels it all. And she burns with it. Keeping that wall up helps from being overwhelmed, from caring too greatly.”

“She barely seems to care about anyone other than Elain.”

I met his stare, scanning that handsome, tan face. “She will never be like Mor,” I said. “She will never love freely and gift it to everyone who crosses her path. But the few she does care for … I think Nesta would shred the world apart for them. Shred herself apart for them. She and I have our … issues. But Elain …” My mouth quirked to the side. “She will never forget, Cassian, that you offered to defend Elain. Defend her people. As long as she lives, she will remember that kindness.”

He straightened, rapping his knuckles against the smooth marble. “Why are you telling me this?”

“I just—thought you should know. For whenever you see her again and she pisses you off. Which I’m certain will happen. But know that deep down, she is grateful, and perhaps does not possess the ability to say so. Yet the feeling—the heart—is there.”

I paused, debating pushing him, but the river flowing beneath us shifted.

Not a physical shifting. But … a tremor in the current, in the bedrock, in the skittering things crawling on it. Like ink dropped in water.

Cassian instantly went on alert as I scanned the river, the banks on either side.

“What the hell is that?” he murmured.

ZOYA POV

“We’re going to need—” Anika groaned, listing heavily onto my shoulder “—a long nap to sleep this off.”

“We got a dress though,” I muttered, leaning on Anika as well and staggering down the hall to our shared room. “And it’s a beautiful one!” I shouted the last bit down the hall. I could hear Elain groan in her room and Anna in Darius’s.

They’d both had too much to drink.

We’d ended the dress appointment with a wedding dress safely tucked away in Elain’s closet. It was a beautiful thing—all delicate lace and small studded diamonds. Elain would make a magnificent bride, even if her groom was hardly on par with her. Once the dressmaker had left we’d all, Nesta included, had far too much wine.

Darius had taken one look at Anna, swaying on her feet and offered her his bed to sleep it off in. Nesta and Elain had decided to share Elain’s bed, and they’d both gone out like a flame after hitting the pillows.

Anika and I had a trek to make back to our room. We staggered onwards, crashing into a painting that Elain had selected which had cost millions. The painting hit the floor, frame cracking. Oops. Elain would have our heads if she ever slept off her hangover.

We managed to hobble through a door and made it to our bed.

Anika flung herself over the covers and refused to budge as I tried to squeeze under them. I gave up when she started to gently snore.

My eyes shut to the sound of Darius storming back and forth, complaining about our drinking habits.

FEYRE POV

And there, on the horizon, a smear of black. Swift-moving—spreading wider as it grew closer.

“Tell me those are birds,” I said. My power flooded my veins, and I curled my fingers into fists, willing it to calm, to steady—

“There’s no Illyrian patrol that’s supposed to know about this place … ,” he said, as if it were an answer. His gaze cut to me. “We’re going back to the town house right now.”

The smear of black separated, fracturing into countless figures. Too big for birds. Far too big. I said, “You have to sound the alarm—”

But people were. Some were pointing, some were shouting.

Cassian reached for me, but I jumped back. Ice danced at my fingertips, wind howled in my blood. I’d pick them off one by one— “Get Azriel and Amren—”

They’d reached the sea cliffs. Countless, long-limbed flying creatures, some bearing soldiers in their arms … An invading host. “Cassian.”

But an Illyrian blade had appeared in Cassian’s hand, twin to the one across his back. A fighting knife now shone in the other. He held them both out to me. “Get back to the town house—right now.”

I most certainly would not go. If they were flying, I could use my power to my advantage: freeze their wings, burn them, break them. Even if there were so many, even if—

So fast, as if they were carried on a fell wind, the force reached the outer edges of the city. And unleashed arrows upon the shrieking people rushing for cover in the streets. I grabbed his outstretched weapons, the cool metal hilts hissing beneath my forge-hot palms.

Cassian lifted his hand into the air. Red light exploded from his Siphon, blasting up and away—forming a hard wall in the sky above the city, directly in the path of that oncoming force.

He ground his teeth, grunting as the winged legion slammed into his shield. As if he felt every impact.

The translucent red shield shoved out farther, knocking them back—

We both watched in mute horror as the creatures lunged for the shield, arms out—

They were not just any manner of faerie. Any rising magic in me sputtered and went out at the sight of them.

They were all like the Attor.

All long-limbed, gray-skinned, with serpentine snouts and razor-sharp teeth. And as the legion of its ilk punched through Cassian’s shield as if it were a cobweb, I beheld on their spindly gray arms gauntlets of that bluish stone I’d seen on Rhys, glimmering in the sun.

Stone that broke and repelled magic. Straight from the unholy trove of the King of Hybern.

One after one after one, they punched through his shield.

Cassian sent another wall barreling for them. Some of the creatures peeled away and launched themselves upon the outskirts of the city, vulnerable outside of his shield. The heat that had been building in my palms faded to clammy sweat.

People were shrieking, fleeing. And I knew his shields would not hold—

“GO!” Cassian roared. I lurched into motion, knowing he likely lingered because I stayed, that he needed Azriel and Amren and—

High above us, three of them slammed into the dome of the red shield. Clawing at it, ripping through layer after layer with those stone gauntlets.

That’s what had delayed the king these months: gathering his arsenal. Weapons to fight magic, to fight High Fae who would rely on it—

A hole ripped open, and Cassian threw me to the ground, shoving me against the marble railing, his wings spreading wide over me, his legs as solid as the bands of carved rock at my back—

Screams on the bridge, hissing laughter, and then—

A wet, crunching thud.

“Shit,” Cassian said. “Shit—”

He moved a step, and I lunged from under him to see what it was, who it was—

Blood shone on the white marble bridge, sparkling like rubies in the sun.

There, on one of those towering, elegant lampposts flanking the bridge …

Her body was bent, her back arched on the impact, as if she were in the throes of passion.

Her golden hair had been shorn to the skull. Her golden eyes had been plucked out.

She was twitching where she had been impaled on the post, the metal pole straight through her slim torso, gore clinging to the metal above her.

Someone on the bridge vomited, then kept running.

But I could not break my stare from the golden queen. Or from the Attor, who swept through the hole it had made and alighted atop the blood-soaked lamppost.

“Regards,” it hissed, “of the mortal queens. And Jurian.” Then the Attor leaped into flight, fast and sleek—heading right for the theater district we’d left.

Cassian had pressed me back down against the bridge—and he surged toward the Attor. He halted, remembering me, but I rasped, “Go.”

“Run home. Now.”

That was the final order—and his good-bye as he shot into the sky after the Attor, who had already disappeared into the screaming streets.

Around me, hole after hole was punched through that red shield, those winged creatures pouring in, dumping the Hybern soldiers they had carried across the sea.

Soldiers of every shape and size—lesser faeries.

The golden queen’s gaping mouth was opening and closing like a fish on land. Save her, help her—

My blood. I could—

I took a step. Her body slumped.

And from wherever in me that power originated, I felt her death whisper past.

ZOYA POV

I jolted awake, a powerful chill racing down my spine. Anika blinked slowly and stared up at me. “What is it?”

I shook the feeling off. “Someone just walked on my grave.”

DARIUS POV

The grounds were quiet and the men were mostly asleep. There were a few running about and causing general nonsense, but I could hardly fault them for that.

I walked up to the gilded gates enclosing the Archeron’s mansion. The men stationed there stood tall. “All quiet?” I asked in a whisper. They nodded in unison.

“All quiet, not a single peep tonight from the road or forest.” I blinked. They were right—it was quiet.

Too quiet.

I squinted into the darkness beyond the Archeron grounds, at the forest’s edge.

Something moved.

My gut froze. _Danger,_ hissed some perpetually alert part of me that had been honed by The Pits. Never in my life had I felt like prey before, never in Amre, never as a new fighter. Never.

_Danger_

I was prey now.

_Danger, danger, danger—_

I turned to the guards. “Ready the men,” I growled. “Gather all the ash—we’re under attack.”


	47. Chapter 47

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part one of the fight at the Archeron House

ZOYA POV

Darius threw me out of my bed and shook Anika awake.

“Hybern,” he hissed, dumping a bag full of honed ash daggers in my lap and disappearing in an instant, no doubt warning my sisters and Anna. Anika swung out of bed, fully awake, and immediately disappeared behind the screen in our room and reemerged clothed in treated, hardened leather—a lightweight suit of armor.

I didn’t bother with changing, merely stashing the daggers in the clothes I’d worn to Elain’s dress fitting and then to bed. I still smelled like alcohol. I grabbed my steel ones too for good measure, they might not be ash but they were still sharp and capable of killing. Fae or not, getting a steel dagger through your head or groin would hurt.

Anika followed me out of the room. She was bouncing on the balls of her feet—light and agile. She had multitudes of knives tucked into her leather armor—I wasn’t entirely sure when she’d had it made, but I was glad that she had. Anna probably had a hand in it somehow.

We breezed down the hall. White hot fire was blazing through my veins. We were all in for the fight of our lives. Anika was jittery and unable to walk in a straight line, much less stand still.

I pushed my way through the door to Darius’s room. Darius wasn’t there, but Anna was. She was unraveling herself from the sheets and stuffing her feet back into her shoes.

“What’s the plan?” She asked, frantically straightening out her clothes and stopping only to straighten out mine in a somewhat motherly way. Her hand shook. Still, she’d come a long way from the timid maid who had tentatively asked to touch my tattoos and had gone green at the sight of my lacerated side. Anna was a friend—but she still wasn’t a fighter.

“The plan is for you to get the other servants and run,” I ordered. Anna stopped fixing the buttons on her pants and glared at me.

“You are my friends,” she snarled, more backbone showing in a heartbeat than in the past months combined. “You are my friends and I refuse to leave you to face Hybern alone. And Darius—” her voice caught. None of us really knew what the two of them were, they were certainly closer than friends, but not quite lovers, either. Not yet, anyway. She squared her small shoulders. “I’m not leaving. I’m not running. Someone else can get the other servants out, but I will not leave you,” her eyes flicked over to Anika. “Either of you.”

Anika took a step forward and gripped Anna by her shoulders. “Anna, there’s not a soul downstairs who can keep their heads about them in the hell that’s about to unleash itself on this house. We need you to run away because you _are_ strong. They all need a leader, and we can’t leave them to die without giving them the best possible chance. Anna—we’re not asking you to leave for your safety, we wouldn’t condescend to you to assume what’s best for you—we’re asking you to leave so you can save everyone downstairs. They won’t make it without you.”

Her lower lip wobbled and silver lined her baby blue eyes.

“Go to the mainland,” I supplied. “My father is there, he’ll remember you and take you in. Just get to safety, and raise the alarm farther south. If you get to any port there’ll be Archeron ships, take any one of them. Take my seal from my office and the documents which give you access to my bank accounts, and take whatever you need from them—bleed them dry if need be, if that’s what it takes or if you simply want a lot of ice cream.” Anna was sniffling in earnest now, barely containing her tears.

She flung her arms around both of us. Anika pulled her in immediately, it took me a heartbeat to realize what was happening and respond. “I love you sweetie,” I whispered, only serving to intensify Anna’s sobs. Anika was rubbing her back in soothing circles.

Anna pulled away and squared her shoulders into a fighting stance. “I’ll get everyone downstairs out to safety and I’ll find your father and I’ll tell him what happened here. But first I need to find Darius.”

“Good luck,” Anika said, as the three of us left the room, locking the door behind us.

“Goodbye you two,” Anna said, before leaning in to give me one last tight hug. “I know about the ring,” she whispered in my ear. “You better ask Anika to marry you soon, women like her don’t need to stick around forever waiting for dullards like you to get a move on.”

I gave a barely perceptible nod. “I’m asking her just as soon as the mess here is over.” I wouldn’t be able to live with myself for another day if I didn’t—life was too damn short.

“Good.”

And with that my friend disappeared down the hall and into the darkness. There was a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach that I would not be seeing her for a very long time. The hall was pitch black, save for the light of the moon streaming in through the high, arching windows. The calm before the storm. There was the occasional flare of light as a man with a flaming torch passed under the window, leading several other men. They were all armed to the teeth with ash. It was good to see that the millions I’d sunk into an ash garden and the days Elain had put into it were about to pay off.

It was the calm before the storm still.

This fight would kick off the second Hybern caught wind of the fact that we were aware of them. They didn’t need perfect organization to win this, they were superior in every facet when compared to humans. Didn’t mean that I wasn’t going to try and win this. It had been years since I’d lost a fight and I didn’t intend to start now. I couldn’t afford to start now.

Nesta and Elain were still in Elain’s room, pacing and unsure of what to do with themselves. Anika and I each drew an ash blade and wordlessly passed one to each of them. Elain took it hesitantly, as though it might bite her. Nesta gripped hers too tight. “I don’t know how to use this,” Elain said, fearfully turning over the blade so its honed edge caught the light.

“Just take the sharp bit and thrust it into any soft, exposed stuff,” Anika supplied. “That’s about the shape of anything to do with a weapon.” Elain nodded, steeling herself.

“Would we be safer at Graysen’s house?” My twin asked. “He’ll protect me—us—I know he will.” I bit my lip.

“At this point it’s too late for that sort of thinking. Hybern’s probably got us surrounded and it’d be damn near impossible to get off the property, let alone to his house. They know about us so they know about him—they’ll have his house surrounded too.” I rolled out my shoulders. “Both of you go barricade yourselves in my office—there’s weapons everywhere and at least four ironwood doors that you can lock to keep between yourselves and the fae. Hopefully I’ll have sorted things out here before they can get through those.”

Nesta scowled, steel coating her expression. “And we’re just supposed to let you face this alone? Fight this alone? This is our home too. These are our lives too. And you expect me to sit behind a few locked doors cowering?” Nesta’s eyes burned in a silent challenge.

“You need to look after Elain,” I supplied immediately. It was the easiest way to convince her to stay put and relatively protected. Nesta softened, just a little bit. “Not to mention the fact that you’d be worse than useless on a battlefield—you’d be a liability. I can’t protect you and fight at the same time, one will take too much attention from the other.”

“What about Darius?” Darius? She wanted _Darius_ to protect her? The incident in Amre came flooding to the forefront of my mind. Darius had protected her life once, and she trusted him to do it again.

She trusted Darius.

She trusted him as much as she trusted me, her own sister.

“You trust him,” It was more statement than question. Nesta nodded.

“Yes, I trust Darius. Why can’t he be the one to guard me while I help?” I cocked my head to the side, examining her. I’d underestimated how much the incident in Amre had shaken her and how grateful she was to my friend.

“Do you trust him with Elain’s life?” Elain flinched and Nesta went stock-still, considering. “He can’t guard you and command troops and fight all at once—it’s madness to expect him too. Not to mention that by removing you from whatever room Elain is in automatically decreases the defenses around her. You’re putting Darius, our chances at surviving the night, and Elain at risk for your own selfish need to feel useful. It might hurt, but Nesta—here you are useless. You can do nothing except hope that the fae don’t make it into my office, because they will come for you. You have disrespected the Queens, and therefore Hybern, too many times to be tolerated.”

Nesta was in a frozen rage, but there was a trickle of logic flaring behind her stone eyes. Her spine straightened and her shoulders snapped back. “Fine.” And without another word she gripped my twin’s hand and marched her down the hall towards my office—the same direction Anna had vanished in.

It seemed like that part of the house was swallowing up everyone I loved.

Anika was already heading down the grand staircase and into the main entryway of the house by the time I snapped out of my musings. I hurried to catch up, twining my fingers in hers. Her thumb absently traced a line along my hand.

“Are you scared?” She breathed, bright blue eyes glinting as the light from the torches outside caught them. My throat seemed to tie itself up into a knot.

I would not lie to her. Not now, not ever. “Yes,” I whispered, the word catching slightly in my throat. Her fingers tightened around mine. “Me too,” she tilted her head to look at me, blonde curls falling off of her shoulder. “I love you, Zoya—just in case I don’t get to say it again.”

“I love you too,” I choked out. Resting my forehead against hers.

DARIUS POV

It was pandemonium. Men were running back and forth in groups, huddled around torches and clinging to their ash weapons. Bless Zoya for having the foresight and raw desire for revenge to slaughter the High Lord of Spring, T-something—testicle, perhaps.

Someone shouted my name—it wasn’t uncommon. All anyone had been doing since we’d announced the fact that we’d soon be under attack was immediately lose their ability to use their brains and they had taken to shouting my name at any given opportunity.

“Darius!” Came the voice again. Fuck my life, why couldn’t anyone use any critical thinking?

“Darius!” Said the voice, closer this time, and…feminine? I wheeled around.

Standing amidst groups of bustling mercenaries was Anna, still dressed in her rumpled clothes from Elain’s wedding dress shopping. She had a knapsack thrown over her shoulder, and flanking her were the servants from downstairs—a handful of footmen and other maids, a butler, and the cooking staff. The head cook, Mrs. Patmore was gripping a large butcher’s cleaver. Knowing her she’d kill ore fae with that than most of the men under my command would with all the ash knives in the world.

I hurried over to them, feet squelching in the mud. All the men running about had ruined Elain’s gardens, turning them to mud. Some little part of me felt bad. When I reached them I immediately wrapped an arm around Anna. It might have been my imagination, but she seemed to lean slightly into my side.

“We’re leaving,” she announced, back ramrod straight in a way which reminded me of Nesta. I was speechless. “I’m getting all of us out of here and to the nearest port, and then we’re all heading off—either to our respective homes or to the girls’ father.”

I blinked. “Be careful,” was all my addled brain could think to produce. “I’ll have the men give you as much cover as possible when you’re leaving, and I’ll give you a few as an escort.”

Anna shook her head vehemently. “You’ll do not such thing,” she scolded. “You may give us cover on the way out, but do not give us an escort.” She grabbed the lapels of my jackets and pulled me down to her level, staring at me directly in the eye. “You protect those Archeron sisters—they need it.”

I smirked. “Even Zoya?” Anna nodded, a stubborn set to her jaw.

“Her most of all. You know what she’s like—she’ll get herself killed before she gives in or lets her sisters or Anika get hurt. Or you, for that matter. Look after her—she needs it. I don’t think anyone in her life has ever offered her emotional support outside of you and Anika—”

“And you,” I butted in, Anna shot me a glare, telling me to shut up.

“Yes, but I’m newer. You and Anika need to be there for her because she will tear herself apart to protect you.” She was right, of course, she always was.

“Alright,” I said, throat a little too dry, and ignoring the pressure building in it. “I’ll look after the Archeron girls, and Anika.”

Anna snorted, rolling her eyes. “If Anika does not have the last name ‘Archeron’ within the year I’d be shocked.”

“You are, as always, right.” I blinked a bit, my eyes seemed to be watering. I pulled Anna’s small frame into a hug. Anna wriggled out of it, glowering up at me.

“Fuck that,” she announced, grabbing my jacket’s lapels again and pressing her lips against mine.

Time stopped. My heart hammered frantically.

Before I had a chance to even respond she was pulling away, out of my arms and turning to the gaggle of servants following her—her friends. “Gather your belongings,” she ordered. “Meet back here as soon as possible and don’t bring too much! You’re carrying it all.”

She ran off with Mrs. Patmore, carefully avoiding the meat cleaver the older woman was waving about. Her blonde hair glinted as it caught the moonlight and as she vanished back into the building.

I made up my mind then: I would make it out of this alive. I’d make it out of this, tell her how I felt, and then get us a cottage somewhere to live. Something with a cute little garden. I was getting too damn old to fight every day of my life.

To my left, in the sun was starting to rise.

ZOYA POV

The sun rose, along with Hybern.

A tremor shifted through the bedrock under the estate. Elain’s flowers bobbed wildly as their ground was upset underneath them. In the ash tree grove the bows of the trees shook, leaves fluttering.

The men surrounding the perimeter of the house crouched low to avoid toppling into each other. Darius stood to my right and Anika on my left. Darius and I quaked in time with the ground, but Anika stood easily, her years of dancing granting her more stability than the two of us combined.

It was starting. My grip tightened on my two ash daggers of choice—both long, perhaps the length of my forearm and serrated.

Far off to my right, near the back gates of the estate which were used for deliveries, were the servants. They were crouched behind a row of juniper bushes, tucked away until the chaos began when they would have a lower chance of being spotted, and a better chance of getting away. If I squinted, I could see a head of blonde hair urging the rest of them to stay quiet and low to the ground. It might have been my imagination, but Darius seemed to be looking for that blonde head of hair too.

The shadows in the forest started to shift—there were shapes moving. Winged beings. The leaves and tree tops rustled as our attackers revealed themselves and launched into the dawn sky.

Out attackers were swift-moving and too big to be birds. They were long-limbed flying creatures with large bat wings. I didn’t spare anymore time to marvel at them, neither did Darius. He turned to the squadrons of armored archers, waiting in lines behind us.

“FIRE,” he roared, tendons cording in his neck.

The archers wasted no time or expense. Hundreds of ash arrows shot towards the grey beasts soaring towards us. The monsters screamed in pain as the arrows hit their marks and a few spiraled down from the sky, crashing with sickening snaps into the trees. My stomach churned—I’d always hated the sound of bones breaking.

The next volley of ash was well on its way before I could process what was happening. More monsters fell from the sky, screaming as they went and trailing blood. Darius had trained our archers well—they sent up volley after volley in fast succession. More monsters fell and more took their place in the sky. The forest was chock full of them.

The monsters drew closer, nearing the edges of my family’s estate. My gut churned and my hand unconsciously reached for Anika’s. She gave me a reassuring squeeze, eyes fixed on the leathery, grey-skinned beasts honing in on us. They had serpentine snouts and razor-sharp teeth. I didn’t have time to marvel at how hideous they were.

The beasts reached the wall surrounding the estate.

And then the screaming started—

My mercenaries launched themselves at their opponents with a bloodlust that would have made any pit-fighter proud. Ash flashed in the air. The abominations and my men fell in equal measure.

Darius rolled out his shoulders and cast one last look at the back gates. They weren’t open yet and there were still beasts pouring out of the forest. Anna was waiting by the gates, watching the invasion force and waiting for them to all be distracted with not getting their heads cut off.

Darius didn’t spare another glance for her, turning instead to the flurry of fighting in front of him and proceeding to wade through the mercenaries. He unsheathed two twin ash daggers from his hips and threw them at the fae. They found their mark, two fae keeling over, ash hilt-deep in their heads. Darius fought well one-on-one, but he was born to fight against masses of opponents. An ash dagger in each hand he punched through any fae in his way, clearing a path and leaving only limp, gored bodies behind him.

Blood was already running in rivers.

Anika released my hand and bounded away, back towards the house and immediately scaled one of the mansion’s walls—she was off to find a good vantage point.

I gripped my own daggers and entered the fray.

I’d always pictured battles as a child with neat lines and gleaming soldiers. The reality failed to meet my expectations. It was chaos. It was overwhelming. The tang of blood as the men around me fell and were replaced by more men, all swinging ash weapons and roaring like banshees. Bloodthirsty bastards. The fae in front of me were at a disadvantage—fighting in tight quarters slowed them down. But not me, for once my size was an advantage.

My body and mind did not shy away from the killing. Fae turned to a bloody mist in front of me. I gutted one fae from neck to navel, and didn’t pause to watch its guts spill out. I grabbed one of its intestines with a hand as one of my knives became permanently lodged in a fae’s skull. Using the intestine as a garrote, I wrapped it around another fae’s neck and promptly crushed his windpipe with his friend’s guts. This felt good—it felt right.

I killed the next one with a good old-fashioned beheading. I whirled, the fae’s head still falling and sliced off the head of the next one nearing me.

It was easy. It was glorious.

A particularly large one growled a challenge to me and I roared in response, baring my teeth. That was the last thing it saw as I punched an ash dagger through its eye.

Fae fell around me, suffocating on their own blood and disemboweled and still I kept going. I tore through the next one in my path until there was only a mound and a puddle where there used to be a body. I didn’t look too long at the carnage.

The morning sun rose higher, beating down, making my skin slick and swollen with sweat. I stopped being able to tell the difference between the sweat on my palms and the blood coating them. As my men fell around me, crashing into the ground and sobbing in pain or for their mothers, I still felt alive—more alive than I had been since I’d faced all the Queens at once, and better than I had since I’d fought in The Pits. My blood sang with each cut of my knives.

It had been a while since I’d had a good fight to enjoy. And I was enjoying the hell out of this.

Darius appeared briefly on my right as he crushed a fae’s head with his bare hands, crumpling it. Something to his right caught his eye and he disappeared from the front line and into the teaming crowd of mercenaries at my back.

I looked up at the forest—there were still monstrous fae rising up out of it. My stomach sunk—we might have been holding our own, but we had no chance at killing all of them.

I cut through more fae.

DARIUS POV

The gardens were stained red with blood. The carefully manicured lawns had been turned to churned mud as more mercenaries and fae grappled.

Countless fae died in front of me, and men around me. At some point I’d mostly given up on ash, choosing instead to beat the beasts into a dead, bloody pulp. Zoya briefly appeared on my left, covered head-to-toe in blood and grinning from ear to ear. Wicked. Bloodthirsty. She was tearing through fae like tissue paper, roaring challenges and laughing madly. I was fairly certain that at one point I’d seen her grab one’s intestines to kill another.

I glanced to my right—to the back gates. Anna was prying them open. Mrs. Patmore was wielding her meat cleaver, sinking it into a grotesque fae’s neck. The footmen had grabbed some of the smaller ash daggers and were clustered in a protective circle around Anna.

Fewer fae from the swarm above were falling to the ground. Fewer arrows were being fired. Slowly but surely, we were being overwhelmed. But I had bigger problems—a chunk of fae from the group above had broken off and were heading off to the back gate.

Anna.

I left Zoya roaring a throaty challenge at a particularly large fae and raced towards the chunk of fae honing in on Anna and the other servants. I beheaded two fae on my way over for good measure, their blood spraying into the air.

I made to the back gate in seconds, gravel from the path sprayed up around me as I turned and roared a challenge at the twenty fae closing in. The footmen and Mrs. Patmore seemed to collapse into my shadow, safely out of the way. Anna didn’t even bother glancing back at me, she was too focused on her job.

I had only a heartbeat before the fae slammed into me. Claws and teeth digging deep into my shoulder. Another one’s clawed hand latched around my throat.

I stayed on my feet, ash dagger in hand. I slammed it into one’s gut. It crumpled.

Breathe.

The rest of them slammed into me, covering me. A pair of powerful jaws locked down on my arm. I didn’t bother punching it—instead I slammed a knife clean through its head. Its friends screeched, ripping at me with renewed effort.

Pain and a little bit of fear bubbled in the pit of my stomach.

Breathe.

I was not prey. I would not start being prey now.

I had no sense of time, slashing furiously with an ash dagger, letting the fae fall around me, blood gushing into the ground. I had no sense of how long had passed between their attack and how long it took me to start fighting in earnest again. It could have been a second. It could have been a minute.

One of the fae slipped out from me, and burying its fangs into a footman’s arm. The boy screamed. Mrs. Patmore slammed her meat cleaver into the thing’s side. Still, Anna pushed the doors open. The lock mechanism was stuck judging by the way she was fiddling with it.

I threw myself back into the fight. Fae using their fangs and talons to rip at me, pulling my arms apart in shreds.

One of their daggers slammed into my stomach, through my boiled leather chest plate.

The world was going black and fuzzy around the edges…fading out.

Pain—

Fear bubbled up in earnest.

No.

No.

Not like this. Anything but this.

I would not die. Not before the servants were free of these gates. Not before Anna was free. We should have gotten them out earlier.

I had to do this for Anna.

She needed to have a future.

She deserved one.

I rallied my remaining strength.

ANNA POV

I didn’t look back when Darius arrived in a spray of gravel and blood.

I didn’t look back when I heard the fae slam into him. Latch into him. Tear into him.

I didn’t look back when he started fighting, snarling his challenge. 

I didn’t look back when he started screaming—frustrated and scared.

I was crying.

The gates gave and flew open. We should have left sooner—but there was no way I could have known that the doors would be jammed. No way I could have known how long it would take to free us from the estate. My shaking hands flung the gates open. A footman streamed past me clutching a bleeding arm, supported by his fellow footmen. Mrs. Patmore waited by my side, bloodied meat cleaver in hand, as the other maids raced by—to freedom, if we were fast enough.

I turned to see Darius.

He was covered in fae, at least ten of them, with as many of their dead bodies laying in shreds at his feet. He was still fighting—muscles bunching and rippling as he drove yet another ash dagger through one of the beast’s eyes.

But his strength faltered. His arms, torn to strips and trying so valiantly to strike and kill, began to slow…

A dagger was sticking out of his stomach…hilt-deep—

No.

No.

Not like this. Anything but this.

I grabbed an ash dagger I’d taken from Zoya’s office, fingers fumbling as I worked it into my grasp.

I couldn’t bear it. Wouldn’t bear it, this death, his pain and fear before it.

I might have been sobbing. Might have been screaming as his impossible strength failed again and one leg gave out.

He began to crumple, ash blades still swinging—still buying me a chance at life.

Fighting so that I might survive.

“PLEASE.” My scream carrying to the monsters shredding him and across the battlefield. “PLEASE.”

I’d beg. Crawl to these monsters, if it bought him the chance to live. But, they were monsters, and they would not listen to pleas for mercy.

My friend, who might have been more than that, if given time. Who supported me in the months leading up to this bloody day.

“PLEASE.” I screamed it—screamed it with every scrap of my being.

The monsters only laughed, and dug into him more. Darius growled and twitched, somehow managing the strength to dig one of his ash blades into another killing blow. Blood was pouring from him in waves.

I hoisted Zoya’s dagger—gleaming and sharp in the midday sun. Had we really been here for that long?

Darius hit the ground, blood flowing freely from him.

I loosed a breath and started to run towards him, dagger aloft—

Only to be stopped by a firm grip on my arm. I thrashed as Mrs. Patmore hauled me backwards—away from him.

Away from my screaming, bleeding friend.

“NO,” I screeched, flailing. Trying to get to him—to help. This was my fault. All his pain and fear was my fault. I should have had us leave earlier. “I NEED TO HELP HIM,” I begged, turning to Mrs. Patmore, a broken shell of myself. “PLEASE.”

But she did not yield. “You will die if you try to Anna. Honor his dying wish—he is not fighting and dying for us, he is doing it for you.” She gripped my arm harder and pulled me farther away from him, and still I struggled against her. “Leave now and live,” she ordered. “It’s what he wants.”

I looked helplessly at Darius. The monsters were pulling his body apart, peeling back his skin and muscle with their blades. Delighting in his twitches and whimpers.

His whimpers—

“NO,” I screamed, thrashing harder. “He needs me! I can help him!”

Mrs. Patmore only tightened her grip and dragged me away, clawing at the gravel—trying to get to my friend. She wrapped her strong arms around me, holding me close and lifting me off the ground. “It’s ok,” she breathed, smoothing out my hair and trying to soothe me as she dragged me away. “It’ll be alright, Anna. But we need to go—he wants you to go and live your life, not to die in this horrible place.”

She pulled me out through the gates—

Away.

Away from my home, my friends, and from Darius.

Through the gates, I watched as his body finally slumped.

He did not move again.


	48. Chapter 48

ZOYA POV

I bared my teeth. Blood sprayed, coating my face. I licked my lips.

I’d killed before—but I’d never relished it the way I was doing now. I had a family to protect. I had friends in the form of Anna and Darius. And I had Anika. At some point I’d taken an ash sword off of one of my dying men and using it to wreak havoc. Fae fell to pieces in front of me as I ripped and sliced my way through them. When my knives and sword were knocked out of my hands, I used my hands to crush their skulls—they screamed and pleaded the same way humans did. Pathetic.

I’d never felt more alive: I felt the heat of the sun, the stinging cuts on my arms and torso, the sweat and blood sliding down my face, slipping beneath the neck of the tattered shirt I was wearing—smelled the tang of blood and the stink of the fae all around me. Felt the exhaustion ripping at me, in my muscles and bones.

A mercenary to my right tossed me another knife.

Six fae died instantly, their armor and bodies turning to red mist and gore. One hit the ground and pleaded for mercy—and he received it. The heel of my boot smashed through his face, and the contents of his head flowed out onto the ground.

I may have been rallying, but the men around me were falling into disarray. A few in the back were turning away from the fight and fleeing. Others were breaking formation. Where the hell was Darius? I wasn’t a leader, that was his specialty. I needed him for this defense to work.

But he was nowhere to be found. I roared in frustration and smashed a fist clean through the back of a fae’s skull. Something in my hand cracked and gave at the impact. I ignored it. It was just another wound—my body was covered head-to-toe in lucky hits from the fae, whether it be from their claws or weapons. The men around me began to fall away, crumpling against Hybern’s onslaught.

With a few roared commands, a few of them rallied—coming back to my sides and pushing back against the fae, ash swords reaching and slashing clean through the bastards. We’d always been outmatched, but now it was starting to show. The archers were almost all dead, lying in piles behind me and attracting flies. A few brave souls were still firing ash bolts at the fae and hitting their marks. It wasn’t enough. I needed the soldiers to rally and suck it up. To get behind me and start fighting a little harder. Where the hell was Darius? Why was I alone? Why was I doing this alone?

I needed my friend.

Another large fae reared up at me and roared, his dual swords slashing—aiming for my neck. I didn’t give him the time of day, simply throwing a dagger, hard and true, for his neck. The monster crumpled on the ground. I pulled the ash dagger from his neck, releasing a spurt of blood onto the ruined garden’s lawn. The soldiers to my left and right blinked at my kill before surging forward, brandishing their respective sword and axe.

Pride flared as they both screamed their challenges to the fae in front of them and surged forward. More of the men followed them, encouraged by their bravery.

My face split into a feral grin and I sprinted forwards, back into the fray.

ANIKA POV

This battle was disastrous. Tears were streaming down my face and my chest was hollowed out. High on one of the house’s chimneys I could see the entirety of the burning estate. Somehow, a fire had gotten started on the far-right side of the estate and it was currently consuming Elain’s greenhouse. All her hard work was going up in smoke. The line of humans was falling back, gradually but certainly caving in on itself. Zoya was cutting a path of pure destruction through the fae’s lines. She was covered in blood and gore, most of it the fae’s. But she had cuts littering her body, which were leaking and pumping out blood.  

I couldn’t see Darius, but he was undoubtedly out there somewhere—barking orders and cutting through fae like they were nothing more than tissue paper.

There was nothing I could do except hope that she was alright—that she had enough years of fighting experience to fall back on when it all became too much.

I drew an ash dagger from my sack of them and hurled it straight through a fae’s eye down in the garden. It had the ground, dead. The man it had been on the verge of shredding looked around in shock, and then charged back into the fray. I was no good for close quarters combat—but throwing knives from a distance…that I could do. Another ash dagger found its way out of my bag and into its knew home in a fae’s head. A flash of satisfaction boiled in my chest.

I’d lost count of how many I’d killed.

I killed a few more.

ZOYA POV

“DARIUS!” I roared at the top of my lungs, wishing that my friend would materialize at my side and rejoin the fight. He did no such thing. I screamed is name again, more frustrated than tired and needing a break. I needed him—I was no good at this whole ‘leading people’ thing. That was his job—that was where he excelled. He was good at that.

The men around me were crumpling back—dead or cowardly, they left the front line.

“DARIUS!” I screeched again frustration building as I punched another fae in the throat, causing him to crumple and exposing the back of his neck. My dagger found its permanent home in the fae’s spine. There was a tap on my shoulder. I whirled around to find—not Darius. It was some other soldier who I vaguely recognized from the training sessions Darius occasionally held for the men. “He’s by the back gate—” he shouted over the cacophony of death and fighting that surrounded us.

I clapped the man on the shoulder in thanks. “Hold the line,” I ordered. “And make the others hold it too. It’s all of our necks if those fae bastards win.” I turned to leave and the man grabbed me by the arm.

I hissed, pain emanating as his fingers accidentally drove into one of my open wounds. “ _What_?” The man seemed to freeze to the spot. “Darius—Darius is…” Fucking children—they turned illiterate when communication couldn’t be more critical. I shook him off and raced towards the back gate, leaping over piles of dead bodies, human and fae alike. I’d find out exactly what ‘Darius is…’ 

I rounded a series of Elain’s rhododendron bushes, in full bloom despite the carnage surrounding them, to find myself at an opened back gate. If the servants were gone then why the hell was Darius here? Where the hell was he? I stormed towards the gate, kicking aside a fae’s body. There was a pile of them up ahead—at least fifteen, all mangled and dead in a heap, blood oozing out the bottom of it. I had to admit, I was surprised these monsters bled red like us humans.

I kicked one of the fae bodies in the pile out of pure spite. I rolled off the pile and onto the ground with a nasty _squelching_ noise.

But I couldn’t focus on that—

Not with the very _human_ arm that moving the fae body had uncovered. “ _Please let it be one of the footmen_ ,” I muttered, sending up a prayer to gods that either didn’t exist or didn’t care. Bending down and gripping them by their armor I shifted the grotesque mockeries of fae bodies off of the human corpse.

_Please let it be one of the footmen—_

_Please._

_Please not Darius_

_Not my friend—_

I pulled the last fae off of the body. The human was massive, nearly seven feet tall and coated in iron muscle and blood. There was a dagger stuck hilt-deep in his belly. There were countless lacerations covering the arms, torso, and legs—all deep enough to reveal bone. Flies were gathering in the wound beds. The human’s chest wasn’t moving—no one would still be alive after this. One of the legs was bent at a wrong angle and the skin was paper-white from blood loss.  

_Please not Darius_

These were only the injuries that seemed to have killed the human. It was evident that the fae had enjoyed themselves in mutilating the body. Taking their time. All the fingers were bent at odd angles—two were missing all together. The skin was burned in places. Garish red lines crisscrossed the body—a whip or something of that ilk.

_Please not Darius_

I looked up at the face. Steely blue eyes gazed blankly up at nothing. Light stubble coated the jaw and a dark shock of hair, cut in a similar style to mine, sat on the head. His mouth was gaping open, filling with blood and ajar—it didn’t seem to be in its correct place either, dislocated.

The world around me went quiet.

I did not hear the battle or the moans of the dying men, or the screams of those trying to stay alive.

Darius.

I vomited, insides twisting.

Darius.

I began screaming then. And sank into the bloodied, churned ground and did not move.

Darius—my friend. My fellow fighter.

Gone.

Somewhere along the line my screams turned into body-racking sobs. I gripped, holding onto what was left of my friend’s body. I didn’t stop holding on as his blood soaked into my clothes and skin. And so my heart hollowed out the part of it that belonged to him, and let it die.

For what seemed like hours, I knelt in the dirt, holding my friend for one last time. As if I might stay with him, my Darius, for a little while longer.

Slowly—

Slowly, fury began to build. Warming my limbs, setting fire to the pit of my stomach. I screamed again, throat burning at the effort and ripping itself open as the sounds of the battle came rushing back.

I’d been enjoying the fight that had killed my friend. I’d been relishing in the bloodletting surrounding me as he had been here—dying. Protecting the servants, and probably more importantly to him—protecting Anna. I had been verging on happy as death surrounded me and my friend was given a long, horrible end.

Had he been scared? Tears fell, unbidden. He would have been—he’d always been a master of controlling himself and staying on top of everyone else in a fight—but this…this had been a slaughter. Darius had been prey—he had been scared. That thing in my chest, my heart, fractured.

I had been enjoying myself. But now, I was raging. There was a difference between anger and fury. Anger would make someone go insane in a fight. But fury—it made people psychotic.

Heat flooded my limbs. My heart started beating.

I wanted to _hurt_ them. I’d wanted them dead, but now I wanted them alive and at my mercy. I wanted to _rend_ them, limb from limb.

I was burning—

Too hot. Too fast.

Fire was eating my insides up as I sat back and looked at my friend.

I couldn’t breathe—

I’d always fancied myself as a born fighter, but this—this battle showed the truth. I was a born killer. My body and mind had been molded to end lives—and so end them I would. I’d been seeing the fae as the monsters this whole time and I had never stopped to consider that I might be one too. That I would be their nightmare—if I wanted it enough.

Flames, white hot, lit themselves in the pit of my stomach as I hauled myself up to my feet.

I’d slaughter them all—

No matter the cost. No matter the damage.

I would kill them all for this—for killing my friend and mutilating his body.

I moved—muscles jumping to attention as I raced back to the battle. I pulled an ash sword and knife from a man who would be a corpse in a few minutes, and turned to face the fae. The line of men had been pushed back and had buckled. They were feet from the entrance to my house—my home. You couldn’t walk through Elain’s garden with stepping on bodies—fae and human alike. I knew which lives I valued more.

In a heartbeat, I found myself face to face with the grotesque beasts Hybern had sent after us. The same beasts that had killed my friend and were currently slaughtering my men. They might as well have been blades of grass. Might as well have been mist, for how easily I cut them down, one after another, driving forward. Twirling, twisting, blades flying, I slaughtered my way through them.

I didn’t notice the dagger one had shoved through my leg until I moved, pain shooting upwards and constricting my lungs.

I pushed the pain down. Away and out of sight. It didn’t matter.

Pain was inconsequential. Still, my fire burned. Urging and whispering to me; _kill, kill, kill, kill—_

The men around me pushed and surged forwards. Ash flashing in a desperate last bid to keep the fae from the doors.

A dagger pushed into my ribs, grazing them as it passed between them, and loosing a scream of fury from me. The fae who did it only had a split second to savor his triumph as I opted to end his life without weapons. His neck snapped as easily as any human one.

My chest tightened and throbbed. I ripped the blade from my side, blood flowing freely. I might bleed out faster this way, but the damn dagger had been obstructing my movement. I took the dagger, still coated in my own blood, and drove it through one of the fae’s heart—if they had those.

Pain throbbed alongside my fury—driving me forwards. Driving the fae back.

Blood poured freely from my side and leg, down onto the churned dirt where Elain’s garden had once been. The edges of my vision went fuzzy. My body cramped, willing me to stop. To rest.

I did no such thing—surging forwards and cutting a fae’s head clean off its shoulders.

The men around me screamed and rallied. I ignored them.

They didn’t matter.  

This was for Darius.

This was to keep those I loved safe—I would not lose anyone else today. I slammed my sword clean through one of their heads before pivoting—around me the fae disappeared into a bloody mist as my sword and dagger made short work of them.

ANIKA POV

Zoya had gone insane. Worry bubbled in my chest as I casually lobbed a few more daggers at fae—all hitting their marks. She roared and raged as she ripped through fae after fae, plowing a clean line through Hybern’s offence, crumpling it. The men around her screamed and rallied, but she didn’t seem to notice them, too hell-bent on surging forwards and cutting down her opponents. The fae around her reached her and immediately turned into a bloody mist.

A knife went clean through the outside of her thigh—she ignored it, beheading the fae responsible for the injury as though he were no more than a stalk of grass. Snarling she twirled and twisted between the fae, avoiding their weapons and talons whilst cutting them down. They were barely even there as she cut her path of destruction through their lines.

Another fae managed to avoid her sword and dagger, slipping between her defenses and pushed a dagger through her ribs—

The world came out from under me.

My heart stopped in my chest and rose into my throat.

_Not Zoya_

Please not Zoya—

Zoya ignored the dagger, simply pulling it out of her side with an enraged scream before pushing it, still covered in her own blood, through a fae’s chest. The fae fell to the ground and did not move again.

Zoya did.

Blood pouring from her wounds she went right back into the fray, killing with impossible ease. Some people were just born with the unlucky gift of ending life: Zoya was one of them. Her yellow hawk eyes gleamed as she killed, filled to the brim with blind fury.

That was my girl.

ZOYA POV

There weren’t enough fae here for me to kill to feel better. There wasn’t enough killing here to take away the sting of Darius’s death. There wasn’t enough killing in the world to make this better.

Hot—I was still too hot

I was burning up

Another ten fae fell prey to my sword, a few of them turning to run as I shredded them. Ended their lives. As if their lives were worth anything after what their ilk had done to Darius. Fire boiled in my stomach as I pulled a few more fae apart, peeling their muscle from their bone in strips. One of the human soldiers next to me vomited at the sight, and then continued fighting.

Good man.

I let out a vicious scream as I gutted one of them like a fish. They came apart like butter under the ash blades. The human men flanking me screamed in time with me, pushing forward. Driving Hybern back.

Back to the hell they came from—

Away from me.

…Away from me.

I couldn’t have that. Couldn’t have them escaping. Couldn’t have them escaping _me_. Couldn’t have them escaping a painful death and going back home. Darius couldn’t go home—so none of them would either. Darius couldn’t go back home or make one with someone he loved. Darius would never be able to start up a family of his own. He would never be a father—and he would have been a magnificent father. None of the fae in front of me would get that luxury either.

I was too engrossed in hacking one fae in half to notice the fae forces falling back

Too engulfed in burning rage to notice three fae to my back, honing in on me—

Forming an attack formation

Charging—

Breaking through the men forming barriers on either side of me.

ELAIN POV

I hadn’t been worried until I’d heard Anika start screaming atop her perch on the chimney above us. Not in pain. But a name. Over and over.

“ZOYA.” Nesta reached for me as my knees gave out. My sister…my twin—was she? “ZOYA,” came her scream again, heartbroken. Fearful.

It was the most terrible sound I’d ever heard. Not only because of what it implied, but because I’d never imagined calm and composed Anika to be able to produce a sound like that. To sound that heartbroken.

“ZOYA, PLEASE.”

I could barely hear, barely think in the wake of the implications of Anika’s screams.

Nesta and I walked to the window, arm in arm and hesitantly. Scared of what we would find when we looked outside. Not my sister.

Please not my sister.

Not her.

Not my twin.

We looked out the window. The estate was ruined—it was in flames on one end. And the parts of it that weren’t in flames were now covered in blood. Where there were once gardens there was now only churned bloody earth.

And bodies—

The bodies covering the grounds. Fae and human. Both piled high. I vomited all over Zoya’s office carpet. Anika and I had bought it for her to brighten up her office.

But there were no lines of soldiers anymore. There were only humans left in the yard. Had we won? There were no fae to be found. And I couldn’t hear any of them thundering up the stairs to cart me away.

All I could hear, ringing in my ears even though she’d long since gone silent, were Anika’s screams for my sister.

I looked carefully down at a gathering of about twenty men. They were…they were holding something—someone—

A small body, covered in blood and gore.

The body was bleeding badly from its stomach, which had been opened. The…the guts were falling out. The organs were only staying put because the men carrying the body with such care, were holding them in.

The body opened its eyes.

They were hawk eyes—yellow.

Nesta and I sunk to the floor.

The body was Zoya. Her insides were being held in by the men carrying her into the house. She’d done this to herself to protect us. She’d done this for us.

Dimly, I noticed Anika scaling down the side of the building, right by our window. She was crying.

I was too.

Beside me, Nesta was hunched over, hand clapped over her mouth. A single sob racked her body.


	49. Chapter 49

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this one is a bit short. I've been on holiday so I've had very little time free. The next one will be longer, I promise.

ZOYA POV

I couldn’t think. It hurt.

It hurt so much—

I bit down on my lip, silencing a sob. Stupid—I had been stupid letting my guard down. Letting my rage get the best of me as the fae withdrew.

The men set me down in the entryway, propped up by a wall. A few of them had the nerve to cast me pitying glances.

Fuck them.

One of them kneeled at my side, gingerly holding my insides in. He was young, maybe as old as Feyre—possibly a year or two younger. I cast him a severe look as his face tinted green. “Don’t vomit on or in me.”

He shook his head vigorously. “I won’t,” he managed. There was a set of boots running towards us, clacking against the marble floor. The second he finished the sentence he was ripped away from me and a different pair of hands clamped over my stomach. The nails were covered in chipped paint and ripped apart, blood oozing out from under them. One hand held me together and the other frantically grabbed my face, forcing me to look at the hands’ owner.

Anika was crying.

“Anika—” I garbled out, the words fractured. “I’m not feeling too good.” Blood seeped onto the floor. I was dying.

Tears streaming down her dirty, freckled face as she gasped for air. She looked worse off than I was. “It’s okay,” she whimpered. Holding my stomach and desperately trying to staunch the slow, but inevitable leaking of blood. Pain flooded my senses as she repositioned her hands. “It’s okay, it’s okay—it’ll be okay Zoya. We’ll—we’ll fix this. We’ll get a doctor—”

A small moan of despair escaped her as she pushed down harder against my wounds, releasing a hiss from me. The world blacked out.  

“We’ll get someone—someone who can fix this. We can fix this—” Anika babbled on.

I doubted that there was anyone in the world who could fix this. Could fix me. Could put me back together again.

“We can fix this,” she whispered desperately, hands now covered in my blood as she tried to keep me alive. “We can fix this…we can fix this…”

Anika was rocking back and forth slightly on her heels. She reeked of anxiety. The tips of her blonde curls had become stained red with my blood. My blood—

“We can fix this…we can fix this…we can fix this—”

The floor around me was stained red and the edges of my vision had long since faded out. When Anika’s shoulders shook with tears, her hands shook, and I hissed in pain.

I was on fire—

Burning up, but no longer from rage. But pain.

Burning pain.

Anika was hyperventilating now. Pain burning in my chest—I hated seeing her like this. Powerless. Panicked. Her hands were covered in my blood as she pressed down, keeping me alive. Giving me a few more minutes.

My mouth was bone dry.

 “We can fix this…we can fix this…” Anika whispered frantically, dissolving into panicked, shallow sobs. “It’ll be okay Zoya—it’ll be alright. It’ll be alright, sweetheart. I’ll get someone to fix this. I’ll get Rhysand to send someone with magic to fix this—” Her lower lip wobbled precariously.

I looked down and immediately regretted it. My head swam at the sight of my innards, clamped under Anika’s hands. Blood poured out, onto the floor.

“It’ll be okay,” Anika reassured me again. She couldn’t possibly mean it, but my heart soothed slightly at her shaky reassurance.

So much blood—

So much.

I was drowning in it.

“Anika—” I croaked out, throat impossibly dry. She shushed me.

“Be quiet and stay still,” she urged me, turning to the few men who had brought themselves to stay in the room. “DO SOMETHING” she screamed, voice fracturing. “Anything! Help her! Why aren’t you helping her?” They didn’t meet her eyes.

“Help her!” She screamed desperately, voice hoarse. One of the boys turned around, tears in his eyes.

“Anika,” I started again—I needed to prepare her. She needed to be able to get through this and continue on with her life. She turned to face me, ashen-faced. Tears streaming. “I don’t think this is going to be fixed. I think that magic has its limits.”

Anika was already shaking her head. “No…no, it—we’ll get it fixed. This has to be fixed.” Her hands pressed down with renewed fervor. Blood still seeped out of me—onto the floor. “You’re a fighter—don’t stop,” she pleaded. “Don’t stop fighting—you can survive this. We can fix this.”

I needed to tell her—needed to tell her about Darius. She had to know. She couldn’t find his body out there without me there to support her. To help her. She couldn’t lose both of us in one day. It would break her. It was breaking me—

This was happening too soon. Too fast. I never meant to go this way. I meant to have more time. And I needed—I needed her to be alright when I was gone because I didn’t know if she would be. I needed Anika to be alright and for her to keep living. I took a deep breath, as deep as I could.

“Anika—Darius didn’t…he didn’t…” I couldn’t say it. Couldn’t acknowledge it. Thankfully, I didn’t have to, comprehension dawned in her eyes and Anika let out a heartbroken moan.

“Is he dead?”

I nodded.

“How?”

“He got Anna out—he was getting Anna and the others out because the back door jammed.” I was crying too, now. My friend was gone. And soon I would be too. What type of winning was this?

“He would have been glad to go protecting those who needed it. And someone he loved.” I had to agree.

She gripped my face with her free hand, caressing my cheek. Blood from my stomach smeared onto my already filthy face. Comforting me. Forgiving me for not being there for Darius when I should have been. Forgiving me for getting myself hurt. Getting myself killed. “It’s okay—we won. We won, Zoya. You won the fight—you broke their lines. We’re safe and we can find someone to fix this. To fix you. It’ll all be alright you just need to hold on a little longer, okay?” Anika looked around, the men in the far corner weren’t watching us anymore. They didn’t look like they were watching much of anything. One of them was clutching a stump where a hand used to be—it was bleeding onto the floor. “Just hold on,” she pleaded. “Please.”

A sob racked her lean frame.

The world around me dimmed. “I’m cold,” I mumbled through numb lips. Anika pressed her hands down on my abdomen, keeping me alive. Keeping me here—with her. Tears started down her cheeks again.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I don’t have anything I can do about that.”

“It’s okay,” I reassured her. “Just…just hold me. Stay with me.” She nodded, biting her bottom lip.

“I will,” she promised. “I’ll stay with you. I’ll be right here.” My limbs were going numb. I couldn’t feel the cold anymore. I didn’t want to die like this.

I didn’t want to die—

Tears welled up and spilled over. Anika ran a blood-soaked hand through my hair gently, lovingly and in soothing strokes. “It’s gonna be alright,” she promised me. “I’m going to be alright. I’ll make sure that your sisters are all right.”

The cold kept creeping in.

The edges of my vision, once fuzzy, had long since faded out.

“We’ll be okay,” Anika swore, cradling my head with one hand and keeping me alive, with her, with the other. “You can rest now,” she whispered.

I just wanted a few more seconds with her—one of the few good things that had ever happened to me. She was the end of the line for me, and now there was no way that I could be there for her. One of my hands fumbled for the small, velvet box in my pocket—it never left my side—and I pulled it out. Fingers shaking. I’d meant for this to be the happiest day of her life, but now it would probably be the worst.

But I wanted this.

I had to do this.

Anika furrowed her brows at the box that I weakly held aloft. “What’s this?”

I opened it.

The blue diamonds sparkled a million different shades, gleaming in the light. It matched her eyes perfectly. The white diamonds straddling it only served to make the ring more brilliant. Anika made a small broken sound. My bloody fingers brushed up against the ring’s white gold sides, dirtying it. I swallowed, my throat now dry for a different reason. I took a breath.

“Anika—” my voice came out horribly weak “—I’ve been meaning to ask you this for a while now. I had a big speech planned but I don’t know if I have time for that now, so I’ll just say this: I love you, with every fiber of my being.” Anika was sobbing again and my heart twisted in my chest. “Will you do me the honor of marrying me?”

She broke.

Great sobs made her chest heave. Tears streamed down her face. Dimly, she nodded vigorously. Anika leaned forward, the sun’s light catching her hair. She’d never looked more beautiful. “Yes,” she whispered, voice cracking with each syllable. “Yes, I will marry you. A thousand times yes.”

Her fingers, torn and bloody, extended and slid the ring from its case onto its rightful place on her finger.

Next to where a golden wedding band should have been.

Would have been—if things had been different.

If I had been better. Smarter. Stronger.

If I hadn’t let my guard down and let her down in one fell blow.

For the last time, she pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead—

And then to my lips.

ELAIN POV

Talons latched into my sides and dragged me backwards. Away from the window.

I screamed.

They’d carried my sister inside. My twin.

Then it had come up from behind, smelling of rotting carrion. Winged. Grey-skinned. Foul. Fae. Zoya and the men must have missed them somehow. Or they had come in after their forces retreated. I screamed again, thrashing violently. Panic bubbled. My chest tightened.

I couldn’t breathe—

Beside me, Nesta had taken one of Zoya’s ash daggers and plunged it into one of the beast’s sides. She lunged at another one, eyes wild. Snarling.

It wasn’t enough.

Five of them surrounded her.

Subduing her.

They hit her across the head and she crumpled to the floor. She didn’t move as I screamed her name. As they stuffed her head inside a bag and bound her wrists. And ankles.

“Someone shut that bitch up,” snarled one of Nesta’s captors. “We don’t want to alert the demon-bitch downstairs.”

The fae holding me raised his arm—

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think, comments and kudos are always welcome. :)


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